


Guilty Pleasure: Anita Motherfucking Blake

by HadenBreslin



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Genderbending, Girl Edward, Girl Jean-Claude, Girl Penis, I'll add tags as I think of them, Is it pedophilia when she's a 1000 years old?, Kickass Anita, Magic, girl Bert, mentions of BDSM, underage for prosperity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 60,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26387779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HadenBreslin/pseuds/HadenBreslin
Summary: For a vampire hunter, and an animator, Anita's naivete always infuriated me. So I finally buckled down, years after I read the book the first time, and created an alt Anita I like much better.This is half crack, half serious.If Anita was a butch lesbian, who took being continually at the mercy of blood sucking fiends a little bit more seriously.Meet her ex-girlfriends who are still part of her life, come see Claude as a moderately hot described girl, come see how even though she's now a woman, Bert/Bethany isn't all about that money, money, money.And finally, come see Anita with a penis have sex with Phillip, who's as innocent and antsy as always.(I'm doing this for fun, and because I needed it.)
Relationships: Anita Blake/Edward (Anita Blake), Anita/Phillip
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like in the description, I just really needed a butch Anita. Like it or hate it.

Willie McCoy had been a jerk before he died. His being dead didn't change that. 

He sits across from you, wearing a loud plaid sport jacket with polyester pants in primary Crayola green. His short, black hair is slicked back from a thin, triangular face. 

He reminds you of a bit player in a gangster movie, the kind that sells information, runs errands, and is expendable.

Of course now that Willie is a vampire, the expendable part doesn't count anymore. But he's still selling information and running errands. 

He's a slime bucket, an undead slime bucket now but you still keep your eyes on him, you're immune to a vampire's Gaze and you've learned that looking them head on unnerves them. And you love unnerving vampires. 

You sit in the quiet air-conditioned hush of your office. The powder blue walls, which Bethany, your boss, thought would be soothing, makes the room feel cold.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asks.

"Yes, I do."

"Damn, you aren't gonna make this easy, are you?"

His eyes are still brown, his nose still crooked. He looks right back at you and laughs, a wheezing snicker of a sound. The laugh hasn't changed. "Geez, I love it. You're not afraid of me."

"What do you want Willie? I've got a client waiting."

"Geez, I wish I had a smoke." The skin begins to jump at the corner of his mouth.

"Vampires don't have nervous twitches."

His hand goes up, almost touches it. He smiles, flashing fangs. "Some things don't change."

You want to ask him, what does change? How does it feel to be dead? You know other vampires, but Willie is the first one you _knew_ before and after death. It's a peculiar feeling. "What do you want?"

"Hey, I'm here to give you money. To become a client."

You glance over at him. His tie tack catches the overhead lights, real gold. Willie never had anything like that before, he's doing all right for a dead man. "I raise the dead for a living, no pun intended. Why would a vampire need a zombie raised?"

He shakes his head, two quick jerks to either side. "No, no voodoo stuff. I wanna hire you to investigate some murderers."

"I am not a private investigator."

"But you got one of 'em on retainer to your outfit."

You nod. "You could just hire Ms. Sims directly. You don't have to go through me for that."

Again that jerky head shake. "But she don't know about vampires the way you do."

You sigh. "Can we cut to the chase here, Willie? I have to leave" - You glance at the wall clock - "in fifteen minutes. I don't like to leave a client waiting alone in a cemetery. They tend to get jumpy."

He laughs. You find the snickery laugh comforting, even with the fangs. Surely vampires should have rich, melodious laughs. "I'll bet they do. I'll just bet they do." His face sobers suddenly, as if a hand wiped his laughter away.

Your hands twitch on the table and you lean back in your chair, preparing to reach for the gun you keep hidden underneath your desk for moments like these. 

"You know about the vampires that are getting wasted over in the District?"

He makes it a question, so you answer. "I'm familiar with them." Four vampires were slaughtered in the new vampire club district. Their hearts torn out, their heads cut off.

"You still working with the cops?"

"I am still on retainer with the new task force."

He laughed again. "Yeah, the spook squad. Underbudgeted and undermanned, right."

"You've described most of the police work in this town."

"Maybe, but the cops feel like you do, Anita. What's one more dead vampire? New laws don't change that."

It's only been two years since Addison v. Clark. The court case gave a revised version of what life was, and what death wasn't. Vampirism was legal in the good of U. S. of A. One of the few countries to acknowledge them, the immigration people are having fits trying to keep foreign vampires from immigrating in flocks.

All sorts of questions are being fought out in court. Did heirs have to give back their inheritance? Were you widowed if your spouse became undead? Was it murder to slay a vampire? There was even a movement to give them the vote. 

_Times are a-changing._

You stare at the vampire in front of you and shrug. Do you really believe what's one more dead vampire? Maybe. "If you believe I feel that way, why come to me at all?"

"Because you're the best at what you do. We need the best."

It's the first time he says the royal "we." "Who are you working for, Willie?"

He smiles then, a close secretive smile, like he knows something you should know. "Never you mind that. Money's real good. We want somebody who knows the night life to be looking into these murders."

"I've seen the bodies, Willie. I gave my opinions to the police."

"What'd you think?" He leans forward in the chair, small hands flat on your desk. His fingernails pale, almost white, bloodless.

"I gave a full report to the police."

"Won't even give me that, will ya?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss police business with you."

"I told 'em you wouldn't go for this."

"Go for what? You haven't told me a damn thing." You say, getting annoyed with this whole thing. 

"We want you to investigate the vampire killings, find out who's, or what's, doing it. We'll pay you three times your normal fee."

You shake your head. That explains why Bethany, the greedy little bitch, set up this meeting. She knows how you feel about vampires, but your contract forces you to at least meet with any client that gave Bethany a retainer. 

_We'll be changing that._

While you like the money you make, you aren't going to sell your soul, and your boss would do anything for money.

Well, okay, to be fair, Bethany would do _almost_ anything, she's got limits. 

You stand. "The police are looking into it. I am already giving them all the help I can. In a way I am already working on the case. Save your money."

He sits staring up at you, very still. It's not the lifeless immobility of the long dead, but a shadow of it.

You stand there, waiting for him to move, daring him to try something. 

"Why won't you help us?"

"I have clients to meet, Willie. I'm sorry that I can't help you."

"Won't help, you mean."

You nod. "Have it your way." You walk around the desk to show him to the door.

He moves with a liquid quickness that Willie never had, but you see him move and you're one step back from his reaching hand. "I'm not just another pretty face to fall for mind tricks." You say, keeping the anger from bubbling up. 

"You saw me move."

"You're the new dead, Willie. Vampire or not, you've got a lot to learn."

He's frowning at you, hand still half-extended towards you. "Maybe, but no human coulda stepped outta reach like that." He steps up close to you, plaid jacket nearly brushing against you. You stared up over his head, several inches taller than Willie. 

"You ain't human, any more than I am."

You move to open the door. "I really have to be going now. Thank you for thinking of Animators, Inc." You give him your best professional smile, empty of meaning as a light bulb, but dazzling.

He pauses in the open doorway. "Why won't you work for us? I gotta tell 'em something when I go back."

There's fear in his voice. Will he get in trouble for failing? You don't feel sorry for him. 

"Tell them, whoever they are, that I don't work for vampires."

"A firm rule?" Again he makes it sound like a question.

" _Concrete_."

There's a flash of something on his face, the old Willie peeking through. It's almost a pity. "I wish you hadn't said that, Anita. These people don't like anybody telling 'em no."

"I think you've overstayed your welcome. I don't like to be threatened."

"It ain't a threat, Anita. It's the truth." He straightens his tie, fondling the new gold tie tack, squares his thin shoulders and walkes out.

You close the door behind him and lean against it. You'll catch hell, Willie isn't lying when he says his bosses won't like you saying no. But there's nothing you can do but prepare for the storm and hope it doesn't do more damage than you're prepared for. 

You shake your head and square your shoulders. Mrs. Grundick's probably already at the cemetery. She would be standing there with her little black purse and her grown sons, waiting for you to raise her husband from the dead. 

There's a mystery of two very different wills. It's either years of court costs and arguments, or raise Albert Grundick from the dead and ask.

Everything you need is in your car, even the chickens. You put your shoulder gun holsters on and take your guns from your little gun safe, you've got a lot of fire power

Stored in your car you have a Benelli Supernova, a 12 gauge shotgun and a Benelli Nova, 20 gauge, you also have a Adaptive Combat Rifle. Under your desk you have an FN P90 and in your gun safe, secured with a biometric look, you have two modified AMT AutoMag IV, two tanto's blessed by a priest, two kukri's cursed by a Voodan priestess and six shuriken dipped in holy water. 

All the bullets are plated in silver, blessed, and the knives and shuriken are made from silver. Silver won't kill a vampire, but it discourages them and forces them to have to heal the wounds, almost human slow. 

Maybe it's a little heavy handed, and you'll admit it can be a bit combersome, but these days you never leave the house without some sort of weapon on you. 

Feeling much better now that you have your guns on, since Bethany won't let you keep them on while meeting clients, another thing you'll be changing in your contract, you pull your silver cross out from under your shit, putting it on display. 

Craig, your night secretary, is typing furiously at the computer keyboard. His eyes widen as you walk over the thick carpeting. Maybe it's the cross swinging on its long chain. Maybe it's the shoulder rig tight across your back, and the guns out in plain sight. He doesn't mention either. Smart man.

As you wait for the elevator to come up you pull on your leather jacket, it doesn't lay flat against your guns, but that's okay, the Grundicks and their lawyers won't notice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anita gets two hours of sleep before being pulled into an ambush.

You see the sun rise as you drive home, which you hate. You hate sunrises, they mean you've overscheduled yourself and worked all bloody night. 

St. Louis has more trees edging its highways than any other city you've driven through and you could almost admit the trees look nice in the first light of dawn, almost. 

Your apartment is large, on the very top floor, you've got four other neighbors, who you've never met and since the walls are so thick, you never have to hear them either. Which is a bonus. 

Your apartment supposedly has a nice view of the park next door, but the first thing you did when you bought the apartment was to have heavy duty automatic blinds installed that stay down 24/7 leaving your place in perpetual darkness. 

You throw your jacket on the living room couch, leaving your Chelsea boots there too. Your weapons go in your safe and the shoulder holsters and your button down get thrown haphazardly on the ottoman by the door. You've got enough energy to put a record with Bach's greatest symphonies on the record player before you drop into your California King sized bed. Sleep pulls you under, causes your eyes to flutter and your heart to slow down. 

A minute later your phone rings.

You lay there for a minute, cursing yourself for not putting it on silent or sleep mode. _Maybe if I ignored it?_ Five rings later you give in. "Hello."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

It's a woman you don't know. If it's a salesperson you are going to become violent. "Who is this?" You blink at the bedside clock. It's eight. You had nearly two hours of sleep. _Yippee_.

"I'm Monica Vespucci." She says it like it would explain everything. It doesn't.

"Yes." You try to sound helpful, encouraging. You think it comes out as a growl.

"Oh, my, uh. I'm the Monica that works with Catherine Maison."

You blink at the ceiling, trying to get your brain in working order, you don't really do well on two hours of sleep but it comes to you. Catherine is an ex lover and still a good friend. She probably mentioned a Monica but you can't place her. 

"Sure, Monica, yes. What do you want?" It sounds rude, and your grandmother would bash you over the head if she heard you now, but you're tired so whatever. "I'm sorry if I don't sound too good. I got off work at six."

"My god, you mean you've only had two hours of sleep. Do you want to shoot me, or what?"

You don't answer the question. You're not _that_ rude. "Did you want something, Monica?"

"Sure, yes. I'm throwing a surprise bachelorette party for Catherine. You know she gets married next month."

You nod, remember she can't see you, and mumble, "I'm in the wedding."

"Oh, sure, I knew that. Pretty dresses for the bridesmaids, don't you think?"

 _As if_ , you haven't worn a dress since your baptism and as much as you love Catherine, you don't wear dresses.

Cat knows this, understands and accepts. So as long as the suit is a soft blue, all's good. "What about the bachelorette party?"

"Oh. I'm rambling, aren't I? And you're just desperate for sleep." 

"What do you _want_ , Monica?"

"Well, I know it's short notice, but everything just sort of slipped up on me. I meant to call you a week ago, but I just never got around to it."

This you believe. "Go on."

"The bachelorette party is tonight. Catherine says you don't drink, so I was wondering if you could be designated driver."

"This is a little short notice Monica." Annoynce is creeping into your voice. 

"I know. I'm so sorry. I'm just so scattered lately. Catherine told me you usually have either Friday or Saturday night off. Is Friday not your night off this week?"

It is, but that doesn't mean you want to spend it ferrying around a drunk and therefore rowdy Bachelorette party. "I do have the night off."

"Great! I'll give you directions, and you can pick us up after work. Is that okay?"

You want to chuck your phone across the room and go back to sleep, you want to yell at this air head for waking you up. "That's fine."

"Pencil and paper?"

"You said you worked with Catherine, right?" And you're actually beginning to remember Monica.

"Why, yes."

"I know where Catherine works. I don't need directions."

"Oh, how silly of me, of course. Then we'll see you about five. Dress up, but no heels. We may be dancing tonight."

Unless it's _getting_ a lap dance, you don't dance. "Yeah. Bye."

You hang up before she can answer, the phone goes on silent mode and for good measure you put it in your bedside drawer. 

You have the strangest dreams once you get back to sleep. All about this woman you don't know, a coconut cream pie, and Willie McCoy's funeral.

***

Monica Vespucci is wearing a button that says, "Vampires are People, too."

It's not a promising beginning to the evening. 

She's dressed in jeans, flats and a white silk blouse with a high, flared collar framing a dark, health-club tan. Her hair is short and expertly cut; her makeup perfect.

You're wearing black jeans, black saude Chelsea boots and a grey knit Henley shirt with leather crossback suspenders. Your hair is braided back for the night, no makeup on aside from some chapstick and your dark clothes make your skin stands out. 

High cheek bones, green eyes, slender nose and blonde hair with naturally tan skin. Germanic against Latin darkness, an ex once described you as an Amazonian Valkyrie, she was very good with words, even better with her mouth. 

Your shirt is long-sleeved to hide the knife sheath on your right wrist and the scars on your left arm, you left your pistols in the safe in your car, but you've got two kunai hidden in your boots, a throwing star disguised as a belt buckle, and you've got some powered rings on your fingers. 

_Always come prepared_ is a motto you live by. 

"I'm so sorry that I put off planning this to the last minute, Catherine. That's why there's only three of us. Everybody else had plans," Monica said.

"Imagine that, people having plans for Friday night." 

Monica stares at you as if trying to decide whether you're joking or not.

Catherine glares at you in warning, mouthing _be nice._ You give them both your best angelic smile. Monica smiles back. Catherine isn't fooled.

Monica begins dancing down the sidewalk, happy as a drunken clam. She only had two drinks with dinner. It's a bad sign.

"Be nice," Catherine whispers.

"What did I say?"

"Anita." Her voice sounds like your father's used to sound when you stayed out too late.

You sigh. "You're just no fun tonight."

"I plan to be a lot of fun tonight." She stretches her arms skyward. She's dressed in the crumpled remains of her business suit. The wind blows her long, copper-colored hair. You've never been able to decide if Catherine would be prettier if she cut her hair, so you'd notice the face first, or if the hair was what made her pretty.

"If I have to give up one of my few free nights, then I am going to enjoy myself - immensely," she says.

There's a fierceness to the last word. You stare down at her. "You are not planning on getting falling-down drunk, are you?"

"Maybe." She looks smug. She stops walking and blocks you, pressing her body into yours. "You're not my Dom anymore, you're my friend, you can't dictate what I do, you can only watch in silent judgement."

"I'm pretty sure I can do more than sit in silent judgment, little red." You say, hands going to her hips. 

"Nope, only silent judgment." She pushes up onto her toes and kisses your cheek. She pulls away and skips along after Monica. "Let's go Nita!" She calls over her shoulder. 

You sigh and follow after them. You left your car in a parking lot two blocks back, the one with the wrought-iron fence around it. There isn't much parking down by the river, the narrow brick roads and ancient sidewalks were designed for horses, not automobiles. The streets have been fresh-washed by a summer thunderstorm that came and went while you ate dinner. The first stars glitter overhead, like diamonds trapped in velvet.

Monica yells, "Hurry up, slow poke."

"Don't be an old stick in the mud," Catherine calls back.

You scoff and catch up with them, Catherine and Monica are leaning against each other laughing. You suspect they might be laughing at you.

Monica calms enough to fake an ominous stage whisper. "Do you know what lies around this corner?"

As a matter of fact, you do. The last vampire killing was only four blocks from here. You're in what the vampires call "the District." Humans call it the Riverfront, or Blood Square, depending on if they were being rude or not.

"Guilty Pleasures." You say.

"Oh, pooh, you spoiled the surprise."

"What's Guilty Pleasures?" Catherine asks.

Monica giggles. "Oh, goodie, the surprise isn't spoiled after all." She puts her arm through Catherine's. "You are going to love this, I promise you."

Maybe Catherine will; you know you won't, you flex your fingers, glad you charged the rings before going out tonight, and follow them around the corner. 

The sign is a wonderful swirling neon the color of heart blood. The symbolism is not lost on you.

You go up three broad steps, and there's a vampire standing in front of the propped open door. He has a black crew cut and small, pale eyes. His massive shoulders threaten to rip the tight black t-shirt he has on. 

Even standing on the threshold you can hear the busy hum of voices, laughter, music. That rich, murmurous sound of many people in a small space, determined to have a good time.

The vampire stands beside the door, very still. There's still a movement to him, an aliveness, for lack of a better term, he can't be dead more than twenty years, if that. In the dark he looks almost human, even to you. 

From his flushed and healthy skin you can tell he's eaten tonight, _fresh blood will do that for you_ , you think. 

Monica squeezes his arm. "Ooo, feel that muscle."

He grins, flashing fangs, Catherine gasps and takes a step back, right into you. He grins wider.

"Buzz here is an old friend, aren't you, Buzz?"

Buzz the vampire? _Surely not_.

But he nods. "Go on in, Monica. Your table is waiting."

Now you're really glad you came prepared, Guilty Pleasures is one of the hottest clubs in the District, they don't take reservations. Monica must have a certain amount of familiarity and clout. 

_I smell set up._ You think to yourself. 

There's a large sign on the door. "No crosses, crucifixes, or other holy items allowed inside." You read the sign and walk past it. You have no intention of getting rid of your cross.

A rich, melodious voice floats around you. "Anita, how good of you to come."

The voice belongs to Claude, club owner and master vampire. 

She's young looking, turned when she was in her mid-teens, but she looks like a vampire is supposed to look. Her soft, curling blond hair tangles with the high white lace of her antique blouse with lace spilling over her pale, long-fingered hands, her black bodice clinches her waist, pushing up her breasts and her shirt is open enough to give a glimpse of milky skin, framed by more lace. 

"You two know each other?" Monica sounds surprised.

"Oh, yes," Claude said. "Ms. Blake and I have met before."

"I've been helping the police work cases on the Riverfront."

"She is their vampire _expert_." She makes the last word soft, warm and vaguely obscene.

Monica giggles. Catherine's staring at Claude, eyes wide and innocent. You touch her arm and she jerks, waking from a dream. You don't bother to whisper because you know Claude would hear you anyway. "Important safety tip - never look a vampire in the eye."

She nods. The first hint of fear shows in her face.

"I would never harm such a lovely young woman." She takes Catherine's hand and raises it to her mouth. A mere brush of lips. Catherine blushes.

Claude kisses Monica's hand as well. She looks at you and laughs. "Do not worry, my little animator. I will not touch you. That would be cheating."

She moves to stand next to you. On her chest you see a burn scar almost hidden in the lace. The burn is in the shape of a cross. How many decades ago did someone shove a cross into her flesh?

"Just as you having a cross would be an unfair advantage."

"I think it levels the playing field." You quip back. 

_It's a shame_ , you think. It's not merely the shape of a cross that hurts a vampire, Claude would have been in deep shit then. The cross needs to be blessed and backed by faith, an atheist waving a cross at a vampire is just a truly pitiful sight.

Claude breaths your name like a whisper against your skin. " _Anita_ , what are you thinking?"

Her voice is soothing and you can feel the brush of power against your barriers. Claude is intrigued by your immunity to her and the rest of her kind. 

That and the cross-shaped burn scar on your arm, she finds the scar amusing. And even though she knows it won't work, every time you've met so far she tries her best to be spell you. 

"You never objected to me carrying a cross before."

"You were on police business then; now you are not."

You arch your eyebrow, lips tilting in a little smirk. 

"Are you so insecure in your own powers, little animator? Do you believe that all your resistance to me resides in that piece of silver around your neck?" Claude continues, answering your smirk with one of her own. 

You don't believe that at all. 

Claude is a self-admitted two hundred and five years old, a vampire gains a lot of power in two centuries. 

She's suggesting you're a coward. 

You're not.

You unfasten the chain and Claude steps away from you, turns her back. A blonde human girl appears beside you, she takes the chain from your hand and gives you a check stub. 

_A holy item check girl._ Your eyes trail down her back to her ass, watching her hips sway sensually as she walks away. 

Without your cross Claude feels bold and presses herself into you, her breasts press into you, firm and soft, your cock jerks but you keep your eyes up and your hands at your side. 

Catherine is glaring at Claude, which doesn't help. 

"I always wondered, is there an upper limit to how much you can endure before your shield breaks? How many swings of a hammer?" Her lips brush over your neck, near your steady pulse. "You will not resist the show tonight, Anita. Someone will enthrall you."

You step back, smile politely. "No." You lock eyes with Claude and keep eye contact. 

She laughs and the sound rubs over your skin, like a brush of fur, warm and feeling slightly of death. 

Monica grabs at your arm and looks up at you, eyes shining. "You're going to love this, I promise you."

"Yes," Claude says. "It will be a night you will never forget."

"Is that a threat?"

She laughs again "This is a place of pleasure, Anita, not violence."

Monica pulls at your arm. "Hurry, the entertainment's about to begin."

"Entertainment?" Catherine asks. 

You have to smile. "Welcome to the world's only vampire strip club, Catherine."

"You are _joking_."

"Scout's honor."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get to see a more balanced interaction between Anita and our femme Claude.
> 
> (at least, I hope so)

Your table is nearly bumping up against the stage, the room full of liquor, laughter and a few fake screams as the Vampire waiters move around the tables. There's an undercurrent of fear, that peculiar terror that you get on roller coasters and horror movies. 

Safe terror. 

The lights go out and screams echo through the room, high and shrill. Real fear for an instant. 

Claude's voice comes out of the darkness. "Welcome to Guilty Pleasures. We are here to serve you. To make your most evil thoughts come true." Her voice is soft, silken whispers in the small hours of the night. 

Your cock pulses and heat spreads along your spine. 

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to feel my breath upon your skin? My lips along your neck. The hard brush of teeth. The sweet,  _ sharp _ pain of fangs. Your heart beating frantically against my chest. Your blood flowing into my veins. Sharing yourself. Giving me life. Knowing that I truly could not live without you, all of you."

In the intimacy generated by the darkness you feel as if Claude's speaking directly to you as if you are her chosen one, her special one. But you know it's a show meant to entice all of the women in the club. 

You have to admit she's good and imagine that she's spent time in a bordello or two in her life time. 

"Our first gentleman tonight shares your fantasy. He wanted to know how the sweetest of kisses would feel. He has gone before you to tell you that it is wondrous." Claude let silence fill the darkness, to build the erotic suspense until your cock is pulsing along with your heart, so loud in your ears that you wonder if Claude can hear it too. . "Phillip is with us tonight."

Monica whispers, "Phillip!" A collective gasp runs through the audience, then a soft chanting begin. "Phillip, Phillip . . ." The sound rises around you in the dark like a prayer.

The lights begin to come up like at the end of a movie, revealing a figure in the center of the stage. A white t-shirt hugs his upper body, not a muscleman, but well built. A black leather jacket, tight jeans and boots complete his outfit, so normal and unsuspecting, his thick, brown hair is long enough to sweep his shoulders and it adds a touch of rebellion to his outfit. 

Music drifts into the silence and the man sways to the sound, his hips rotating ever so slightly and he begins to slip out of the leather jacket, moving almost in slow motion. 

The soft music has a pulse, one his body moves with, swaying. 

The jacket slides to the stage and he stares out at the audience for a minute, letting us see the scars that hug the bend of each arm. 

You close your eyes and breath through your nose, you feel a hand on your thigh, warm through your jeans. Your head tilts to the side and you open your eyes to see Catherine, looking straight ahead at the show going on but a look down shows her hand sliding up your thigh until she's cupping your crotch. 

You bite your lip to keep the moan quiet as Catherine's delicate little hand squeezes you, her fingers and palm used to rub your hard on. 

" _ Cheater _ ." You whisper, eyes drifting back to the stage to watch. But Catherine doesn't stop, she keeps squeezing and rubbing at your cock. 

Phillip's hair is swept back from his face now, exposing a neck littered with bite marks, and his hips sway to the music as his hands grab his t-shirt and pull up. 

Screams echo around the room and you look back at Monica who's leaning forward in her chair, lips half-parted. You turn to Catherine and see her looking at you, eyes dark with lust, her plump lower lip caught between her teeth. 

It reminds you of your days together, one in particular where you took her to a kink show, you barely made it three minutes before her hand was in your pants. Another five minutes and you had her gaged and tied spread eagle in a private room, your cock buried deep in her ass. 

You know you should stop Catherine, she's getting married soon, but another part of you, a possessive part, doesn't want her to stop. You almost want her to forget the show and slide under the table, taking your cock out to suck on it. 

Instead you turn your eyes back to Phillip, letting Catherine help you get rid of your hard on. A shiver runs through you, a fire rages in the pit of your stomach, and you know your underwear is ruined, soaked through with pre-cum. 

You see the scar tissue and Phillip's smooth, bare chest, old and new scars, gifts given to him from vampires. You wonder if Philip has a preference, or if he's only attracted to the fangs of it all. He gives a smile, a dazzlingly brilliant one that's incredibly sexy. 

Catherine whispers, her eyes finally off you and focused on Philip, finally noticing his numerous scars. "Dear God!"

You inhale sharply, because with her exclamation comes a really hard squeeze to your cock and balls that's enough to send you over the edge. You shiver and know your boxers are ruined now, you can only hope your jeans don't get stained. 

"He's wonderful, isn't he?" You hear Monica ask.

Your head rolls her way and you see her flared collar slipped, exposing two neat puncture wounds, fairly old and almost scars. 

You slump back in the chair, sinking lower. Catherine gives your thigh a loving pat and her hand stays there even as her eyes focus on Philip now. 

Even through the pleasent haze of your orgasm you can't ignore the warning bells going off.  _ A vampire comes to see me with a proposition then I get taken to a vampire strip club by a vampire groupie who happens to work with my ex sub and friend?  _

_ Real fucking coincidence.  _

Philip dances on the stage, the music pulsing faster now, with his hips swaying, gyrating, he throws the strength of his body into every move. 

You can see a similar scar on Phillip that you have. A white mass of scars over his left collarbone, ragged and vicious. You know what caused it, a vampire tore through his collarbone, rapped at him like a dog with a piece of meat. 

You have a lot of scars too, some matching Phillip's, but usually the vampires that cause them end up dead. You don't think the stripper fought back much and while that disgusts you, it also arouses you, imagining him under you, writhing in pain, and pleasure. 

_ Sometimes being pansexual can be a pain in the ass.  _

Dollar bills appear in hands and Monica is waving her own money like a flag. You almost want to say you don't want Scar Boy at your table, but you know it wouldn't be worth the effort because already his eyes were focused on your table. 

Monica swallow and licks her lips, her eyes enormous, when Phillip comes near she's stuffing money down the front of his pants, and you can't help but notice his bulge is much smaller than yours even with his tight pants. 

Monica's hands trace his scars like nervous butterflies and she leans her face close to his stomach, lips beginning to kiss his scars, leaving red lipstick prints behind. He kneels as Monica kisses him, forcing her mouth higher and higher up his chest. 

Knees flush to the floor Monica pressed her lips to Phillip's face and he responds by brushing his hair back from his neck, knowing what she wants. Monica licks the newest bite scar, you can hear her breath go out in a trembling sigh and watch as she bites him, mouth locking over the wound. 

Phillip jerks with pain, and a little bit of pleasure from his dark and blown pupils. Monica works her jaw, sucking on the wound, and Phillip tilts his head back, giving more ground. 

Catherine stares at them, her fingers digging into her thighs, teeth worrying her bottom lip. 

The croud is going wild around you, screaming and waving money. Phillip moves away from your table and to another, Monica slumps forward, head collapsing into her lap, arms limp at her side at the loss of Scar Boy. 

You follow Phillip through the crowd until he's back on the stage, ignoring Monica as she basks in the afterglow of what must have been an orgasmic experience for her. 

Back on stage Phillip stops moving, just standing there. You can see the hickey Monica left on his neck. 

You can feel the stirrings of an old mind, flowing over the crowd, trying to influence them. 

"What's happening?" Catherine asks, her grip on your thigh easing a little bit, she bumps shoulders with you as an apology. 

"It's all right," Monica says back. She's sitting upright in her chair, eyes still half-closed, she licks her lips and stretches her hands over her head.

Catherine turns to you, fear creeping into her eyes. "Nita, what is it?"

"Vampire," You reply.

The fear fades away under the weight of the vampire's mind and you watch as she turns her attention back to Phillip. Your hands clench, one dark ring flashing with small sparks as you ready yourself. 

Normally Catherine would be in no danger, but that is when the vampires are following civilized rules of engagement. Now, they want something from you, are willing to piss you off by using a person you love against you. 

_ All bets are off.  _

Still, she's safe for the moment, this mass hypnosis isn't personal, and it's not permanent.

You can tell the vampire isn't as old as Claude, not as good. You sit and feel the press and flow of a hundred years of power, it's not even close to enough. You can feel him move up through the tables, going through a lot of trouble to make sure the poor humans don't see him come. 

He'll just appear in their midst, like magic. 

Turning your head you see the enraptured faces of every human, turned blindly to the stage. The vampire is tall with high cheekbones and model-perfect, he's too perfect to be real. He strides through the tables wearing the proverbial vampire outfit, black tux and white gloves. 

He stops one table away from you, to stare, he's got the entire audience in the palm of his mind, helpless and waiting but here you sit, staring at him, right in the eyes. 

You don't get to surprise vampires very often.

His body stiffens, surprised. There's nothing like ruining the calm of a hundred-year-old vampire to boost a girl's morale.

You look past him to see Claude, she's staring at you, a little smile on her face. You salute her with your drink and she tilts her head at you. 

Back on stage the vampire is standing beside Phillip, who's eyes are as blank as everyone elses. The spell drifts away and with a thought the vampire wakes the audience, and they gasp. 

Magic. 

Claude's voice fills the sudden silence. "This is Robert. Welcome him to our stage."

The crowd goes wild, applauding and screaming, Catherine applaudes along with everyone else. Impressed.

The music changes again, pulsing and throbbing in the air, and almost painfully loud. Robert the vampire begins to dance, he moves with a careful violence and throws his white gloves into the audience. 

One lands by your feet, you leave it. 

Monica says, "Pick it up."

You shake your head. .

A brunette wearing too much bronzer leans over from another table, the smell of whiskey strong on her breath. "You don't want it?"

"Have at it."

She gets up to get the glove but Monica beats her to it, she sits back down, looking unhappy. 

Robert is stripped, showing a smooth chest and you wonder if he was turned like that or if he has to shave the hair off. He drops to the floor and does fingertip push-ups, driving the audience wild. You know he can bench press a car so you aren't as impressed by the display of strength as the women around you. 

Robert starts to dance around Phillip, the human turning to face the vampire, arms spread out, slightly crouched as if ready for an attack. You watch as they begin to circle each other, Robert moving close to Phillip, Phillip moving as if to trying to run from the stage and while to the unprotected eye it looks like Robert just appeared in front of the human, you actually got to watch him position himself. 

You have to admit it kind of takes the fun out of it. 

The audience gasps and you watch as the vampire catches the human, both kneeling now with Robert holding Phillip's arm behind his back while his other hand grips the human's hair, pulling his neck back at a painful angle. 

Phillip's eyes are wide, filled with lust and terrified. 

You swallow, wishing you had ordered something other than water. Phillip is aware, aroused and scared, Robert didn't put him under and that excites you, makes your cock hard again, makes your heart beat faster. 

Phillip pants, his chest rising and falling in short gasps. Robert looks out at the audience and hisses, fangs flashing in the lights, Catherine gasps and her fingers dig into your thigh again, even harder than before, and you know Robert is probably projecting his need. 

You know you shouldn't watch this, no matter how aroused it makes you. But you can't turn away as Robert strikes, his teeth sinking into Phillip's already scared neck. 

Shivers run down your spine at Phillip's shriek. It echoes in the club and the music dies abruptly, no one moves, or breathes. You close your eyes at the soft, moist sucking sounds that fill the silence and soon Phillip's moans join it, small helpless sounds that make your cock pulse. 

You turn away from the stage and survey the crowd, all of them enraptured, feeling Robert's hunger, his need, feeling him feed. 

You wonder if the vampire is projecting Phillip's terror too and can't thank God enough for your immunity because you know feeling the human's aroused terror would be enough to send you to a magnificent orgasm. 

Finally Robert stands and lets Phillip fall to the stage, limp, unmoving. You clench your jaw and stay seated, watching as Phillip's scarred back convulses in a deep, shattering breath as if he's fight back from death. 

_ And maybe he is _ , you think. 

Claude whispers, "Who wants a  _ kiss _ ?"

No one moves for a minute, then hands with money fisted in them raise up here and there. Not a lot, but enough. The majority of people look confused, like they just woke up from a bad dream. 

Monica is holding up money. 

Your hand slides under the table and you clench it tight, feeling nails digging into your palm and sparks flying across your hand. 

Of course Robert comes to Monica, she tucks the money down his pants and he presses his bloody, fangled mouth to hers. The kiss is long and deeper, with probing tongues as they taste each other. 

Robert starts to draws away from Monica and her hands go up to his neck to try and draw him back but he pulls away and turns to you. 

You pull your hand back from under table and show him empty hands, universal sign for _no money_. 

Robert grabs for you instead of stepping away. You move quickly, knocking your chair to the floor as you move out of reach, hand coming up and pulsing with bright blue sparks of electricity. 

Over the buzz of voices trying to figure out what just happened you speak. 

"I can't kill you. But if you try and put your hands on me again I'll you spark you up." You grind out, irritation coloring your words, your eyes glaring at Robert. 

Robert stares at you and soon Claude is beside you, a smirk on her voice. "Are you all right, Anita?" her voice tries to influence you, to roll your mind, it doesn't work but you can tell from the pressure she's going all out in her attempt. 

You lower your hand, cutting the sparks off, you look at Claude, anger burning inside you. "You should teach your workers that no, means no." You say. 

"Well-" 

Walk This Way by Aerosmith interrupts what she's about to say. You smirk at her and pull your phone out of your back pocket, you answer. 

"Hello…yeah...okay...sure...give me ten." You say with a sigh before signing off and hanging up. The police want your expertise at the Hillcrest Cemetery, you have to work on your night off. 

"Kitty, I gotta go, you want me to take you home?" You whisper to Catherine, bending over her to put your lips close to her ear, ignoring Claude and Monica. You hope she'll want to go home. 

Catherine looks at you, her pupils blown and dark. "I wanna stay actually." She says softly, almost apologetic. 

You sigh and clench your hand but stand up, you put your hand on the back of her neck, just tight enough where she knows what you're about to say is a command and not a request. "You do not go on that stage. Alright? No matter what." 

She scowls at you, a little irritated, but she nods and you bend down to brush your lips over her forehead. 

You're not surprised she wants to stay, say what you like about vampires, they are fascinating. It goes with the job description. 

You glare down at Monica, almost tempted to threaten her. Instead you turn around and walk back through the tables to get your cross. 

Claude is standing by the door, arms and ankles crossed. "It's such a pity you couldn't relax."

"You're a blood-sucking bitch, you know that?" 

She chuckles and moves towards you, hips swaying. "She's quite something, your  _ Kitty.  _ I can smell the cum on you."

You clench your jaw and step into Claude's space. "If anything happens to her I will burn this place down. With you and your nest inside." You clench your right hand, flexing your index finger with the marble ring on it, and knock your shoulder into Claude's, knocking her aside as you walk back towards your car.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anita gets called to a crime scene before mad flexing on all the vampires.

The coffin lays on its side, a white scar of claw marks running down the dark varnish, the pale blue lining is sliced and gouged. One bloody handprint shows plainly and could almost be a human's. 

All that is left of the older corpse is a shredded brown suit, a finger bone gnawed clean and a scrap of scalp, with blue hairs still attached. 

A second body lay five feet away, the man's clothes are shredded, his chest has been ripped open, his ribs cracked like eggshells, and most of his internal organs are gone. Only his face is untouched, with his pale eyes wide and staring up at the stars. 

It's a pretty gruesome sight, and if you had a weaker disposition you would never be able to do what you do. As it is you've measured the bite marks with your trusty tape measure and with your gloved hands you've searched the corpse over, looking for clues. 

There aren't any. 

The scene has already been photographed and recorded from every possible angle, you're always the last  _ expert  _ called on. There's an ambulance waiting to take the bodies away once you're finished. 

You're about finished, you know what killed them, Ghouls. You narrowed the search down to a particular kind of undead, yay. The coroner could have told them that. 

You've got overalls on to protect your clothes, the overalls were originally for vampire killings, but when you started to consult for the police at crime scenes you decided to continue the trend. It's a good thing really because the overalls are stained at the knees and down the legs with blood. 

The yellow police tape is wrapped around tree trunks, strung through bushes, there's even yellow tape looped around the stone feet of an angel and the tap flaps and cracks in the growing wind. Sergeant Rudolf Starr lifts the tape and walks towards you. 

He's six foot eight, built like a wrestler and has close-cropped black hair which leave his ears bare. He walks briskly, striding really. 

Dolph is the head of the newest task force, the spook squad, officially its the Regional Preternateral Investigation Team. The R-P-I-T, pronounced rip it. It handles all supernatural-related crime. And it's not a step up for his career. 

Willie was right, the task force is a half-hearted effort to placate the press and the liberals. 

You think Dolph pissed someone off to get this position, not that it's stopping him from doing the best possible job he can. He's like a force of nature, he doesn't yell, he just stands there and things get done because of it. 

It's impressive. 

"Well," he says.

You smile,  _ that's Dolph, a man of many words.  _ "It was a ghoul attack."

"And."

You shrug. "And there are no ghouls in this cemetery."

He stares at you, face neutral, he's good at that, he doesn't like to influence his people. "You just said it was a ghoul attack."

"Yes, but they came from somewhere  _ outside _ the cemetery."

"So?"

"I have never known of any ghouls to travel this far outside their own cemetery." You stare at him, trying to see if he understands your meaning. 

"Tell me about ghouls, Anita." He has his trusty little notebook out, pen poised and ready.

"This cemetery is still holy ground. Cemeteries that have ghoul infestations are usually very old or have satanic or certain voodoo rites performed in them. The evil uses up the blessing, until the ground becomes unholy. Once that happens, ghouls either move in or rise from the graves. No one's sure exactly which."

"Wait, what do you mean, that no one knows?"

"Basically."

He shakes his head, staring at the notes he's made, frowning. "Explain."

"Vampires are made by other vampires. Zombies are raised from the grave by an animator or voodoo priest. Ghouls, as far as we know, just crawl out of their graves on their own. There are theories that very evil people become ghouls. I don't buy that. There was a theory for a while that people bitten by a supernatural being, wereanimal, vampire, whatever, would become a ghoul. But I've seen whole cemeteries emptied, every corpse a ghoul. No way they were all attacked by supernatural forces while alive."

"All right, we don't know where ghouls come from. What do we know?"

"Ghouls don't rot like zombies. They retain their form more like vampires. They are more than animal intelligent, but not by much. They are cowards and won't attack a person unless they are hurt or unconscious."

"They sure as hell attacked the groundskeeper."

"He could have been knocked unconscious somehow."

"How?"

"Someone would have had to knock him out."

"Is that likely?"

"No, ghouls don't work with humans, or any other undead. A zombie will obey orders, vampires have their own thoughts. Ghouls are like pack animals, wolves maybe, but a lot more dangerous. They wouldn't be able to understand working with someone. If you're not a ghoul, you're either meat or something to hide from."

"Then what happened here?"

"Dolph, these ghouls traveled quite a distance to reach this cemetery. There isn't another one for miles. Ghouls don't travel like that. So maybe, just maybe, they attacked the caretaker when he came to scare them off. They should have run from him, but they didn't."

"Could it be something, or someone, pretending to be ghouls?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it. Whoever it was, they ate that man. A human might do that, but a human couldn't tear the body apart like that. They just don't have the strength."

"Vampire?"

"Vampires don't eat meat."

"Zombies?"

"Maybe. There are rare cases where zombies go a little crazy and start attacking people. They seem to crave flesh. If they don't get it, they'll start to decay."

"I thought zombies always decayed."

"Flesh-eating zombies last a lot longer than normal. There's one case of a woman who is still human-looking after three years."

"They let her go around eating people?"

You smile. "They feed her raw meat. I believe the article said lamb was preferred."

"Article?"

"Every career has its professional journal, Dolph."

"What's it called?"

" _ The Animator _ , what else?"

He actually smiles back. "Okay. How likely is it that it's zombies?"

"Not very. Zombies don't run in packs unless they're ordered to."

"Even—" he checks his notes "—flesh-eating zombies?"

"There have only been three documented cases. All of them were solitary hunters." 

"So, flesh-eating zombies, or a new kind of ghoul. That sum it up?"

You nod. "Yeah."

"Okay, thanks. Sorry to interrupt your night off." He closes his notebook and looks at you. He's almost grinning. "The secretary said you were at a bachelorette party." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Hoochie coochie."

"Don't give me a hard time, Dolph." You say, unzipping the front of your overalls and letting it gape around your clothes. The wind blows against you, cool, you can smell rain in the air, indicating another thunderstorm moving this way.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Riiight," You say back. "If you don't need me anymore, I'll be getting back."

"We're finished, for now. Call me if you think of anything else."

"Will do." You walk back to your car and open the boot, your bloody gloves, the baggies you put on to protect your boots and the overalls are shoved into a garbage bag. 

Dolph calls out, "You be careful tonight, Anita. Wouldn't want you picking up anything."

The rest of the men waved at you and call in unison, "We loove you."

"Gimme a break." You retort, shaking your head, you pull on a denim jacket you have stashed in the car to ward off some of the chill. 

One calls, "If I'd known you liked to see naked men, we could have worked something out."

"The stuff you got, Zerbrowski, I don't want to see." You call back. 

Laughter then someone grabs him around the neck. "She got you, man . . . Give it up, she gets you every time."

You get into the car to the sound of masculine laughter, and one offer to be your "luv" slave. It was probably Zerbrowski.

***

You arrive back at Guilty Pleasures a little after midnight and out front is Claude. She's leaning against the wall, still.

"You smell of other people's blood, ma petite."

"It was no one you knew." You say, not feeling particularly kind towards her right now. 

Her smile drops and her lips press tight together, eyes suddenly full of quiet rage. "Have you been killing vampires, my little animator?"

"No. But I'm sure by the end of tonight that might change." You retort, letting the anger that's been building all night come to the forefront. 

"They call you The Executioner, did you know that?"

"Yes." You walk past her but Claude steps out in front of you, blocking your path. 

"How many kills do you have to your credit?"

You frown at the sudden line of the conversation, not liking where it's going. You debate lying, but why? It's not like the numbers aren't a matter of puplic record. "I've killed sixteen."

"And you call us murderers."

You growl under your breath and step up to her, towering over her petite form. "Don't act like there aren't monsters amongst you, Claude. Each one of my kills were judged by a court of law and sent to their death. If you have a problem with it then you shouldn't have come out of the fucking coffin."

Buzz the vampire comes down the steps now, staring at you and Claude and how close you are to each other, practically nose to nose. He goes back to his spot by the door, crossing his huge arms over his chest. 

Claude asks, stepping back from you, almost reluctantly. "Did you have a nice break?"

"Yes, thank you, master."

The master vampire smiles. "I've told you before, Buzz, don't call me master."

"Yes, M-M . . . Claude."

Claude laughs softly, shaking her head, fondly. "Come, Anita, let us go inside where it is warmer."

Claude walks up the steps, her hips swaying seductively, she steps through the door and you pause for a second before walking in after her. 

The holy item check girl is waiting for you at the door, you give her your cross and she gives you a check stub. Your hands clench tight and you activate some of your rings, diamond hard skin, faster reflexes, increased regeneration, extra strength. 

Feeling stronger and faster you walk deeper into the club, stopping short with a sharp intake of breath when you see Catherine on stage. 

She's standing motionless, eyes wide, your heart clenches in your chest. 

Catherine is in a deep trance.  _ I told her to stay off the fucking stage.  _

Walking up to the stage you see Monica, watching you come, with a knowing smile on her face. You grind you teeth and promise to make the little bitch pay. 

A vampire appears behind Catherine, coming out from behind the curtain, and he stares at you. His hair is golden, his skin ivory, eyes clear pools of blue. 

His attempt at enthralling you falls flat. 

His voice is soft, but with command. "Call her."

You know it won't work, he's had enough time to roll her completely, she's his now, he can call her anytime, anywhere and she will come to him. 

Through her, they have you.

Which is what these bastards want. 

_ Play along, you'll get all of them.  _ You grit your teeth and swallow your pride. "Kitty? Can you hear me baby?" 

You can feel the eyes from the audience on you, but you ignore them in favor of focusing on Catherine. She does move, just the faint raise and fall of her breathing. 

_After this I'm getting_ _her some protection, I'm getting everyone protection. And I'm killing Monica. Slowly._

The vampire touches her shoulder, releasing her, at least for now. Catherine blinks and stares around, surprised, scared, she gives a nervous little laugh. "What happened?"

The vampire raises her hand to his lips. "You are now under my power, my lovely one."

She laughs again, not understanding that he told her the absolute truth. He leads her to the edge of the stage and two waiters help her back to her seat. "I feel fuzzy," she says.

Monica pats her hand. "You were great."

"What did I do?"

"I'll tell you later. The show's not over yet." She stares at you when she says the last.

The vampire's eyes are on you, pushing his influence against you, over you, trying to find holes in your shield. He isn't going to find any. 

"I am Aubrey," the vampire says, trying to be seductive. "Give me your name."

"Go fuck yourself."

Gasps echo around the room and Aubrey gives a placid little smile but he presses against you harder now, trying more aggressively to roll your mind like he did Catherine. 

"How…nice...come, join me on the stage." His voice isn't as good as Claude's, you can tell he's ancient, much older than Claude, but his voice has no texture to it. 

You climb on top of your table, knocking Monica's glass of liquor over in her lap, and jump up onto the stage

Aubrey smiles, feeling cocky again. He's standing in the center of the stage, perfectly still, it's unnerving really. 

"Come." He says sweetly. "Come to me. "

You stand where you are, hands tucking into the jacket pockets to wide the small sparks of electricity you have going off. 

"Don't fight me!" He growls out.

"Go fuck yourself Aubrey." You say again, meeting his eyes with all the weight of his centuries of life pressing down on you. 

Your resistance to vampires is part of what makes you an animator, numerous blessing from priests and voodan practitioners and a blessed ring made from Angelite, Jet and Amethyst meant to protect the mind and protect against negative energy. 

He smiles then, a slow spreading of lips. "Then I will come to you."

You're the same height and standing toe to toe now. You stand still as his cool hand comes up to trace the sharp edge of your cheek like a lover. 

"Your heart hammers too fast. It betrays your fear." Aubrey says softly, pressing his body against yours, his hand moves up to your hair, pushing an errant strand of hair away. "Why do you have to make this difficult? We can have so much  _ fun _ ." 

You smile and step forward pressing your bodies even closer together, your left arm wraps around his waist and your right wrist gives a small flick to cause the knife you have sheathed to slide down into your hand. 

"Claude, I'm in."

In normal circumstances you wouldn't do this unless you had a death warrent, since killing a vampire is just as illegal as killing a human. But the vampires want you to work for them, are willing to go to these lengths. 

_ Doesn't mean I'll play nice.  _

Just as Claude steps out onto the stage and Aubrey's grin turns confused, you bring your right hand up and drive the silver dagger right into his heart. 

Aubrey gasps and his hands come up to push at your shoulder but you just hold him tighter, twisting the dagger and looking over his shoulder to see Claude's horrified face. 

Silver doesn't really kill a vampire, but this knife has a nasty little decaying spell on it that will turn Aubrey into a pile of dust in a few days. 

A few days and Catherine will be free. 

You give a nasty little grin to Claude and pull the dagger out of Aubrey, whose hands go to the hole in his chest, you step back and bring your leg up, pressing your foot against his hands. 

He goes flying backwards through the curtains at the back of the stage with a stupid look of shock on his face, a few seconds later you hear a loud crash and a few surprised screams. 

You can practically feel the shock of everyone and Claude looks horrified, and aroused at the same time. 

A growl comes from the side and you just manage to get a glimpse of a waiter's outfit before an arm grabs you around the waist and another hand fists in your hair. 

Your enhanced strength, speed and reflexes come in handy as you let your legs go limp even as you grasp the hand in your hair. You use your momentum and throw the vampire over your shoulder, sending him flying through the same hole you sent Audrey through. 

A second later the waiter is back, crouching just in front of the hole, growling loudly at you. 

Your right hand clenches and the ring made out of solid Rainforest Jasper pulses with energy and the stage begins to rumble, small green stems sprouting up all over along the wooden planks. 

The waiter stares at you and you stare at it, jaw clenched. Claude fills your vision, hands held out in front of her, you're kind of flattered that she considers you the bigger threat. 

"Anita, enough. I didn't mean for things to go this far, but please, stop this here before it escalates any further." 

"Claude, you started this shit, I'm just ending it." You say back. 

She looks at you searchingly before she turns her back on you and focuses on the the waiter, speaking to him in soft French, trying to calm him down and it works because soon he's jumping through the hole again, probably to get Aubrey from wherever he landed. 

Claude turns back to you but her eyes are focused past your shoulder, to the audience behind you, she walks until you stand shoulder to shoulder on your left side and smiles at the crowd. You can feel her influence spreading out, enthralling all the women present. 

Her cool hands encircle your left wrist and you bring your right hand up to dig the silver blade into her side. Her eyes stare into yours as she pushes your sleeve up, her fingers caressing the scar there. 

"We hope you enjoyed our little melodrama. It was very realistic, wasn't it?" Claude addresses the audience, trying to salvage things. 

You turn and see that a lot of faces are pale and frightened. They know the show went wrong, the charming mask fell away to reveal the monstrous truth. 

Claude leads you by your scared arm to the center of the stage, having you stand beside her, she's using her influence to try and calm the crowd, but they still shift uncomfortably, fear plain on their faces. 

She smiles and lifts your scared arm, exposing the burn scar, the cross that sits as a constant reminder of the danger that vampires present. The audience is silent, not quiet understanding, Claude smiles patiently and nimble fingers loosen the strings of her corset enough that she can expose her own cross shaped burn. 

There's a moment of stunned silence, then applause thunder around the room with screams, shouts and whistles soon joining the roar of noise. 

You can feel a headache building and you know the night isn't over yet. 

They think you're a vampire, that it was all an act. Claude pulls you down into a bow and whispers. "Let's get off this stage. Things would have gone much more smoothly if you had simply accepted our first offer."

"Probably." You retort, feeling much less energetic than before.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita contends against two pissy vampires and Claude gets smittened.

Claude leads you through the curtains to backstage, another vampire is waiting just off to the side, he's dressed like a gladiator, complete with a metal breastplate and short sword. "Talk about an act that's hard to follow. Shit." He jerks the curtain open and stalks through.

You look around for Aubrey and his defending waiter but don't see them. Instead Catherine comes running up to you, her face so pale her freckles stand out like little brown ink spots. She jumps into your arms, her arms and legs wrapping around you tightly, her face falls into the crook of your neck. 

"My God, are you all right?" she asks, talking against your skin, her legs squeezing your waist. 

You nuzzle her hair, your own arms squeezing her around the middle. "Next time I tell you something, you listen." You say gruffly. 

Catherine lets go of you and stands on her own feet, looking up at you with apologetic eyes. "I promise. But what's going on? What was that stuff on stage? You aren't a vampire any more than I am."

Aubrey finally comes out from where he was hiding, hissing silently behind Catherine's back, his fangs straining, making his lips bleed. It's not that scary since you can see the curse is starting to take effect, he's looking a little more chalky now and you can see little flakes breaking off from his face. 

You smile back at him. 

Catherine grips my arm. "Anita? Talk to me."

"Shall we talk in my office?" Claude asks.

"Catherine doesn't need to come."

Aubrey strolls closer. "I think she should come. It does concern her _intimately_." He licks his bloody lips. 

"It doesn't concern her at all."

"What doesn't concern me? What are you talking about?" Catherine is gripping your arm harder, her fingers digging into your skin in what could have been a painful hold of you didn't still have your diamond skin. You gently pry her fingers loose before she breaks them. 

Claude asks, "Is she likely to go to the police?"

"Go to the police about what?" Catherine asks, a whine in her voice with each question, annoyance setting in. _She always was a little brat._

You gently grip Catherine's chin with your thumb and forefinger and tilt her head up. "You're not going to the police, little kitty, you're going to go home, you're going to cease all interactions with Monica and you're going to be fine. _Alright_?" The last word is a command. 

She glares at you and tries to pull away but you keep a tight hold on her chin. "You know I'm not asking. Do as I say Catherine." 

She looks into your eyes and must see something because her eyes become fearful again and she nods. "Okay Nita. I'll keep my mouth shut." 

You smile and run your fingers through her hair, more to calm yourself. "You know Claude, you didn't need to go this far. You just needed to increase the monetary gain."

Claude looks at you, searching your face. "Well, now you have no choice."

You grin, giving her a long look before your eyes switch to Aubrey. "I wouldn't be so sure little vampire."

Just then Monica arrives, she hesitates, glancing from you to Claude and back. "Is everything going according to plan?"

Catherine spins around and stares at her. "You were in on this?" She stalks forward and a loud slap echoes as she slaps Monica, who falls back on her ass, staring up at Catherine in shock. "You're done. I'm going to ruin you, you back-stabbing fucking bitch." Catherine spits out, venom in her voice. 

You step in just as she's about to lift her foot to stamp on Monica, you wrap your arm around her waist and lift her up, your height adventage coming into play. You turn your eyes to Monica and give her a murderous little glare that has her shuffling back until her back hits Aubrey's legs. 

"Come near her again, and I'll kill you. Slowly, _painfully,_ got it?" 

"You know, you talk big for a little human girl." Aubrey says, kicking Monica away from his legs. "You need to learn some humility before that overconfidence gets you in trouble."

"Aubrey, talk to me in about…two to three days."

"Alright. Enough." Claude finally steps in, coming between you and Aubrey. "Nikolaos is expecting us to bring her, unharmed." She tells Aubrey. 

Aubrey hesitates and snarls, his jaws snapping on empty air. The smack of his teeth biting together is a dull, angry sound.

They stare at each other and you can feel their wills straining against each other in the air, it makes your skin crawl and your hair stand on end. 

Aubrey looks away first with an angry but graceful blink. "I will not anger _my_ master." He emphasizes _my_ making it clear that Claude was not _his_ master.

You've heard vague mentions of Nikolaos, no one informant giving you concrete information regarding this vampire. All you know is they're old, powerful, and have a very high standing in the vampire circle of St. Louis. 

"Let's get this over with." You take Catherine by the arm and pull her out as you get your phone to call an Uber. 

***

You watch Catherine's ride vanish around the corner, she kissed you goodnight and made you promise to call her first thing. You kind of miss her possessiveness. 

Your phone beeps and you pull it out of your pocket to read the message:

_Money received, I'll take care of it all tonight. She'll be safe from now on. Or at least as safe as an unpowered human gets._

You exhale a big gust of hair and tuck your phone back into your pocket, after making an insurance policy to make sure you leave whereever Claude is taking you alive. 

"Shall we go?" Claude asks from behind you. 

You can see Aubrey in the shadows near the club door, leaning heavily on the door. _That's how it goes you bastard, soon you'll be a pile of dust._

"You feeling alright there ol' long fangs?" You ask sweetly, wanting to dig that metaphorical dagger deeper still. 

He pushes off the wall, stumbling slightly before he gets his footing, he bares his fangs at you. "What did you do to me? I've been feeling weaker."

"And you've been flaking as well. It's the nasty little decay curse I had put on that dagger. You'll flake away into dust in a few days." You step towards him, heat burning in your veins, an hand on your bicep stops you from getting too close to the enraged vampire. "You're going to serve as a reminder to your _master_ what exactly the price of fucking with me is."

He hisses and rushes down the steps towards you, his eyes burning with rage. Claude steps in front of you, catching him and speaking to him in soft French. 

Aubrey pulls away, sending a glare your way before he glides up the street. 

Claude turns to you but you put your hand up to stop whatever she's about to say. 

"Don't. I'm not sorry he's going to die. And he wouldn't have had to if you just kept things civilized and dealt with me. _You_ brought my friend into this, so don't you fucking dare make it out as if it's my fault. I'm no Saint, Claude, but at least I don't go rolling fucking innocents to coerce their friends to do my bidding."

"It was out of my hands." She says again. 

"You keep saying that." You walk past her and follow in the direction that Aubrey went. "Let's get this done with."

She comes floating up beside you, high heels clicking on the cobblestone path. "This night must remain secret from the police, Anita. Hold my hand, play the besotted human with her vampire lover. It will explain where we are going, and why." She holds her hand out to you, pale and slender, with no tremor to the fingers, no muscle movement of any kind. 

You look down at her hand and scoff. "I'm never the besotted one Claude." But you take her hand anyway, because she's right, this night needs to stay hidden until it doesn't. 

Her fingers curve over the back of your larger hand, her hand cold and very still in yours. You can feel your pulse in your hand against her skin and soon hers begins to match yours, beating slow and steady. 

You can almost feel her blood flow like a second heart, it brings an unpleasant question to mind. "Have you fed tonight?" 

"You can't tell?"

"I can never tell with you." You admit reluctantly. Your relationship with Claude is a battle of wills, each fighting for that little bit of ground only to lose it then gain it back later. 

You can see her smile from your peripheral. 

"I am flattered."

"You never answered my question."

"No," she says after a minute.

"By choice or by force?" You ask, thinking about Nikolaos. 

She turns her head your way as you walk and you can see sweat gleaming on her upper lip. You imagine licking it off. 

"You are observant ma chérie. I've been ordered not to."

You grind your teeth, you want to pull your hand away, don't want to be a temptation. But pulling your hand away or struggling will just excite her and incite her bloodlust. 

"Don't call me ma chérie." Rain start to patter down, you bring the hood of your jacket up to keep your head dry. 

"Not even going to offer _darling?_ " Claude asks with a soft laugh, pressing closer to you even. 

"You're not susceptible to the flu." 

You walk in silence for a few blocks before a hotel pops into sight. It's tall, thin and made from real brick, there's a sign out front that glows blue and says, "Vacancy." There's no other sign. Nothing to tell you what the place is called, or even what it was. Just vacancy.

Rain glistens in Claude's hair and her shirt is stuck to her shoulders, transparent now that it's wet and hugging her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. 

Your cock is starting to wake up, filling out your crotch area now and from the little smirk she has on her face Claude can probably smell your arousal. 

A police car eases around the corner, going slow as they sweep the shadows with a spotlight. They sweep the District regularly because it's so very bad for tourism if the tourists get wasted by the city's biggest attractions. 

Claude presses herself back into your body, her free hand going loosely around your shoulders, she stares up at you, eyes briefly glancing down at your lips as she moves in for that kiss. 

You clench your jaw, staring over her shoulder at the police car as it inches towards you. You can feel Claude tremble as her lips brush over your tense jaw, drifting up over your chin to ghost her lips over your buttom lip. 

"Do I disgust you so Anita? That you can not even act for the sake of your friend?"

You growl and thread your free hand into her hair, using your strength to tug her head back roughly, she hisses softly, arching into your body, rubbing against your aching hard on. 

You stare into her dark blue eyes as you slowly bring your lips down on hers as your other hand pulls free from her hand and wraps around her waist, pulling her tightly against you. 

"Kiss me, please." Claude whispers against your lips, both arms hanging from your shoulders now as her hips sway against your own. You dip your head and claim her lips, kissing her roughly, trying to maintain dominance. 

Claude sighs and sinks against you, eagerly opening her mouth to your tongue. Your heart is loud in your ears, hammering, but then you realize it's Claude's heart that's beating that hard and you grin, liking the effect you have on the vampire. 

You press the advantage and take perverse pleasure in her little mewl of pleasure as your tongue caresses her fangs. 

The spotlight sweeps over you and you move your hand down from Claude's waist to cup a firm ass cheek, palming it roughly as you slide your tongue against hers, pulling her closer to grind your hard on against her pussy. 

The spotlight and police car move past you, leaving you in darkness again. You let go of Claude and step back, her breathing is ragged, her eyes dark with lust, your own breathing is a little heavy for a minute until it settles down. 

You wait until her eyes are on you before you bring your jacket sleeve up to wipe your mouth clean of her saliva. 

You can't feel her heartbeat anymore. 

It's cruel and from the way she takes a step back from you further you know it hurt her. She leans against a parked car, face turned up to the rain, she doesn't speak to you, doesn't look at you. 

You tuck your hands into the pockets of your jacket and stare at the hotel, giving her her privacy. After five minutes Claude stands, she avoids looking you in the eyes as she leads the way to the hotel. "Nikolaos awaits us inside."

You follow a few feet behind her, through the front door, through a small square lobby with a human man sitting behind the front desk. He glances up from magazine he's reading, his eyes flicking between you and Claude, he leers at you. 

You sneer back at him. "You won't like what I'm packing buddy." 

His eyes drift down to your pants, to your crotch, they widen before he quickly turns back to his magazine. You can see a pink flush to his face now. 

You grin and follow Claude as she goes swiftly up the stairs, not breaking her pace for you, she doesn't look back, doesn't laugh, doesn't say a thing. 

You almost want to apologize. 

Into a hallway with doors on either side, with Claude halfway through one of the doors. You follow slower now, _they can wait._

The room holds a bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and three vampires, Aubrey, Claude, and a strange female vampire. Aubrey is standing in the far corner, near the window, he glares at you, full of hate and spitefulness, you honestly can't bring yourself to care about a dead vampire walking. 

Claude stands near the door and you need to pass, pretty close to her actually, to get into the room. 

The unidentified vampire is reclined on the bed, looking like a vampire should. Long, straight black hair that falls around her shoulders, she's wearing a full-skirted, black dress with high black boots with three inch heels. 

"Look into my eyes," she says. 

You look at her, taking in her dark eyes and blood red lipstick. She laughs, light and amused. "It's true, you are immune…and unafraid. Close the door, Aubrey," she says, her r's thick with an accent that you can't place.

Aubrey brushes past you as he closes the door, and stays at the back of you, where you can't see him. You move with your back to the only empty wall. 

You've got diamond hard skin and denser bones, but you aren't indestructible, you're just momentarily invulnerable. They can still kill you, it would just take a little extra work for them, which would give you time to get away. 

_Gotta love magic._

"Afraid?" Aubrey asks.

"Still flaking off and bleeding?" I retort. 

He crosses his arms over the blood stain on his shirt. "We shall see who is bleeding come dawn."

"Aubrey, do not be childish." The vampire on the bed stands, her heels clicking on the bare floor, she stalks towards you, you turn your gaze on her, scanning her up and down. 

"You wish me to guarantee your friend's safety?" she asks, walking back to sink gracefully onto the bed. The dingy room looks worse with her sitting there in her two-hundred dollar leather boots. 

"Catherine's safety is already guaranteed. Now it's late, I'm tired. Can we stop fucking around? Take me to see the _real_ Nikolaos so we can hash out a service agreement, without which I'm not doing _shit_."

"You are speaking with my master, girl." Aubrey says, glaring at you, getting your meaning. Or at least some of it. 

"No, I am not." You say with a sigh, the room gets very still and you can hear something scrambling inside the wall in the silence. A look at the vampires show them as utterly still as statues, no sense of movement, breathing, or life. 

You've made a name killing vampires, do they honestly think you can't tell the difference in the ages of vampires? Tell the difference in power? 

You would have been dead a thousand times over if you couldn't. 

"I am Nikolaos," the female says, her voice coaxing, trying to enthrall you. 

"Sure, you're all so damn old, but none of you are old enough to be Nikolaos. You aren't Aubrey's master, you're old and good. But you aren't old or strong enough."

Claude's voice is smug, "I told you she would see through it."

"Silence!"

"The game is over, Theresa. She knows."

"Only because you have told her."

"Tell them how you know, Anita."

"She feels wrong, just isn't old enough. There is more power from Aubrey than from her."

"Do you still insist on speaking with our master?" Theresa asks. 

"I like service contracts because they outline very clearly what I will and _absolutely_ will not do. They outline what I need in term of support and resources. They can also be brought to a court of law if there is any kind of breach, on _your_ end. I'm not working for you until the actual, capital B, boss signs it." You look at each of the vampires in turn. "And I am getting tired of these stupid little _games_."

Aubrey suddenly rushes you, you step out of the way of his first open hand slap, but his second closed fist hit gets you on the shoulder and sends you flying across the room. 

Your back slams into the wall, jarring your body. You wince but stand up, nothing broken, you dust your denim jacket off and spit blood out of your mouth. You blink stars out of your eyes and take a step forward. 

"Come at me again you limp dick little _fucker_ and I'll-" 

The closed fist gets you right on the temple, knocking your body into the wall again and knocking you out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Claude is a conniving bitch, and Anita kicks some wererat ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late chapter, if anyone cares, while I'm finishing the editing on this, I'm also rewriting Naked in Death, I think I'm fucking up Eve.
> 
> Also, I'd love to hear your guys' comments, I feel like this isn't doing as well as my other stories. I'm wondering if it's the less violent nature of this, the writing, or whether it's just the book I picked. 
> 
> So if you've read my other stories, comment and let me know what you think of this.

Voices come through the darkness, through the haze. "We shouldn't have moved her."

"Did you want to disobey Nikolaos?"

"I helped bring her here, did I not?" 

You keep your eyes closed, your body relaxed and your breathing even, taking stock, aside from a mild pain in your bones that your regeneration is taking care of, and a dull ache at the base of your skull that's fading, you don't feel worse for wear. 

But you know you got off lucky, Aubrey's strength was diminishing, if he hit you with his full vampiric strength, that could have spelled the end for you. 

While magical regeneration can heal a pulverized brain and skull, it would have taken days and an extended stay in a hospital to make sure your body didn't die from the loss of brain activity. 

Maybe? 

As it is, you don't think you were out more than a few hours, one or two, and you don't feel like you have a concussion, which is great. 

"Anita, are you awake?"

_ The jig is  _ up, you think to yourself. You slowly open your eyes, blinking at the sharp light that sends nausea rolling in your stomach. You groan. 

"Anita, are you all right?"

"Peachy." You try and sit up, not quite successful because your neurons are misfiring at the moment. 

"What?" Theresa again. 

"I think she is being sarcastic," Claude says and she sounds relieved. "She can't be hurt too badly if she is making jokes."

Hands curve under your shoulders and you start to feel weightless as you're lifted up. Claude whispers to you in French and you curse yourself for your rudimentary understanding of one of the most romantic languages, you know enough to have short, slightly stunted conversations. 

_ I'll learn _ . You decide but for the moment you don't need to because Claude's soft, soothing voice takes away the last of the ache and the nausea. She cradles you against her chest, your head resting on her breasts. "Do you feel better now?" 

"Yes." You open your eyes and look down at your hands, you've got almost all your rings still on except for the one that generates lightning, you're disappointed but not surprised they took that one, considering you used it a lot, you're glad they left the rest though. 

Even though all of them are made from different gemstones and metals, and inscribed with different runes and blessed to make them powerful, they look like ordinary, cheap little trinkets. You paid extra for the illusion spell that would fool even vampires, even very old and powerful ones. 

It cost you five arms and legs for the whole set of powered rings that you have, but each serve a different purpose that come in very handy when you need them. 

The knife sheath on your right wrist is missing, you can only hope you get it back. Getting silver weapons that have been blessed, cursed or inscribed is expensive. 

"Claude, what have you done?" Theresa asks and you move your eyes from your hands over the the vampire, frowning. 

_ What the hell is she talking about?  _

"Nikolaos wishes her to be aware and well for this visit. You saw her. She needed a hospital, not more tormenting."

"So you helped her." Theresa's amused. "Nikolaos will not be pleased."

You feel Claude shrug and turn your head to look up at her. "I did what was necessary."

"What did you do?" You ask, sitting up on your own, you take a second to scan your eyes over your environment. You're in a dungeon with thick stone walls and measuring at just twenty by twenty feet. There are steps that lead up to a barred, wooden door, and with the illumination coming from the torches placed all along the walls you can see chains set in the walls. 

All that's missing is a rack and a black-hooded torturer with big, beefy arms and a tattoo that says I love mom. 

You see Claude and Theresa exchange a look between the two of them and you start to get the feeling that maybe your speedy recovery isn't all due to your ring of regeneration. 

Claude gets a bucket from near the stairs and washed it over the floor, where there's a very modern drain in the middle of the floor. She's avoiding eye contact with you again. 

Theresa stares at you, hands on her hips. "You certainly are recovering quickly." Her voice is amused, she thinks your quick recovery is due to whatever Claude did. 

_ Fine, let her think that. I don't need them taking the rings away.  _

You decide to play along. "The pain, the nausea, it's almost gone. How?"

She smirks at you, lips curling. "You'll have to ask Claude that. It's her doing, not mine."

"Because you could not have done it." There's a warm edge of anger to Claude's voice.

Theresa's face pales. "I would not have, regardless."

You try and wrack your brain for any information on vampires that you've learned for something that would explain this. It takes a second but you get it. 

You jump to your feet and move towards Claude, gripping her arm tightly. She's wincing in pain, trying to pull her arm out of your grip but you just hold on tighter. "What. Did. You. Do?" You growl out, glaring at her. 

There's a flash of fear in her eyes before she covers it up with anger. "You were badly hurt but Nikolaos wouldn't let us take you to a hospital until this is over with. I did what I had to do."

You grind your teeth, pushing her away from you, she stumbles but gains her footing quickly, looking at you suspiciously now. 

"You shared your fucking life force with me, didn't you?" You shake your head and rub your face in frustration.

"See how grateful she is for the gift you've given her?" Theresa scoffed. 

"Oh please, don't act like Claude did this out of the goodness of her ice cold fucking heart. This was about gaining a powerful asset to help mitigate the clusterfuck that is this night." You clench your jaw, fisting your hands hard enough to dig your nails into your palms. 

A vampire sharing their life force with a human is typically the first step in turning that human into a human servant. Usually a vampire has two ways to make a human servant, quick way and the long way. 

The quick way creates these pathetic half-creatures that have a few bites and does a vampire's bidding. The long way is a series of steps where the Vampire shares their life force with a human, and the human with the Vampire, until the human becomes a permanent servant, one that will never be bitten, can never be hurt. One that's just as immortal as their vampire master. 

Claude took away the little bit of pain you had that was fading away and gave you something in return. 

"You know an awful lot about vampires and their rituals." Claude says, looking at you with unreadable eyes. 

You bare your teeth at her maliciously. "It's my job to kill you. I don't do anything half assed."

The only good thing about this is technically human servents serve only out of willingness to help their vampires, and you feel no obligation to help Claude whatsoever. 

"Nikolaos is going to destroy you both." Theresa says with a barking laugh, stalking up the stairs until she's out the door. She leaves it open behind her. 

"I did it because you were hurt. I did not-" 

You bring your hand up to stop her. "I'm not going to serve you Claude, if I have to choose between me and mine and you, self preservation will aways win out."

"I'm a part of you now, as you are a part of me. You will have to join."

You take slow steps towards her, and she lets you back her up until her back hits the stone wall behind her. You lean forward, with your hands laid flat either side of her head, so close your noses almost touch. 

"I still have plenty of time to break the bond. So force me, there's a fucking stake with your name on it,  _ ma petite _ ." 

She smiles at you, blue eyes dark. "Mon chérie, Nikolaos would have punished us. Aubrey is already suffering, twice over, for his indiscretion. I did what I had to do to preserve my life. Can you begrudge me that?" She slips out from under you and walks up the stairs, the click of her heels on the stone so much louder now. 

"I cannot bespell you, but that does not mean that you are as immune to me as you were before. I have access to you now Anita." The door closes behind her with a soft click and you want to bash your skull against the wall. 

_ I hate vampires, I really fucking hate vampires.  _

***

You know how to pick locks, you know a few infiltration skills that make sneaking in and out of places. But you don't have lock picks with you, you still have your other weapons aside from the obvious silver dagger and the lightning ring, but your kunai aren't small enough to fit in the lock, and your throwing star isn't much help. 

You hear a sound behind you and look to see a rat scurrying along the far wall with another peering around the edge of the steps, whiskers twitching. 

Something else patters around the edge of the steps, in the torchlight it looks like a dog, until it sits up on its haunches and you get a better look.  _ Shit _ . 

It's a rat the size of a German shepherd and its eyes are locked on you, it's huge paws tucked close to its furry chest, it clocks one large, black button eye at you and its lips draw back from yellowed teeth. The incisors are five inches long and blunt edge daggers. 

"Oh you've got to be kidding." You grouse, as if vampires aren't bad enough, you've got to deal with a fucking wererat now. 

Of course, you have read The Rats by James Herbert, so this thing could just be some mutated freak of nature. But somehow you don't think you'll be that lucky. 

The air fills with high-pitched squeals, echoing, you step to the far edge of the stairs and see a tunnel. It's cut into the wall, almost man-high and rats are pouring out in a thick furry wave, squeezing and biting. Pretty soon they cover the floor. 

The Rainforest Jasper ring feels warm around the pinky of your right hand, reminding you it's still there, ready for use. 

Four giant rats, standing out like mountains in the writhing tide of fur, one of them stares at you with black eyes, there's nothing ratlike in that stare, human intelligence shines through. 

The one that stares at you stands, legs half-bent, it's man-sized, with a narrow ratlike face and a huge naked tail that curves around its bent legs like a thick fleshy rope. 

The rat man extends a clawed hand. "Come down and join us, human." The voice is thick, almost furry, with an edge of whine to it, each word precise and a little wrong. 

Rats' lips are not made for talking.

You are not climbing down these steps, no fucking way. You know a guy who survived a werewolf attack, nearly died, but he didn't become a werewolf. You have an ex who was barely _scratched_ and became a weretiger. Bite or scratch, it's a fifty-fifty chance come next full moon you could be playing fur-face. 

If you have to choose between wererat and death,  _ let there be death _ . 

"Come down, human. Come down and play."

"I'm good where I am."

The man rat gives a hissing laugh. "We could come up and fetch you." He strides through the lesser rats and they part from him frantically, leaping on top of each other to avoid his touch, he comes to a stop at the edge of the steps, looking up at you. 

Seeing him better now you see his fur is honey-brown in color, streaked with blond. "If we force you off the steps, you won't like it much."

You clench your right hand into a fist, pulling the elemental power stored inside the ring into you, letting it fill your hands with the warmth of Mother Nature, of earth, of the plants and the trees that flourish above the soil, and the hot, red, burning magma that burns underneath. 

"Come down, human, come down and play."

"If you want me, you're going to have to come get me." You say back. 

He curls his tail through his hands, stroking it, in a very obscene way that makes your skin crawl. One clawed hand runs through the fur of his belly, stroking lower, your nose scrunches up in disgust.

"Fetch her."

Two of the dog-size rats move towards the stairs, a small rat squeals and rolls under their feet, giving a high, piteous shriek, then nothing. It twitches until the other rats cover it. 

Tiny bones are snapped. Nothing goes to waste.

"What do you want?" You ask, biding time as you pull vines up from underground, pulling an army of them towards you. 

The rats hesitate.

The ratman says, "Nikolaos asked that we entertain you while you wait."

"That doesn't answer my question. What do  _ you _ want me to do? What do  _ you _ want?"

His lips curl back from yellowed teeth, you think he's smiling, even though it looks like a snarl. "Come down to us, human. Touch us, let us touch you. Let us teach you the joys of fur and teeth." He rubs claws through the fur of his thighs. It draws your attention to the small little pink cock coming out of his fur. 

You arch a brow and grin at him. "Is that supposed to be impressive?" You ask.

He freezes for an instant, then snarls, "Get her down here!"

You fist your right hand, the Jasper ring flashing in the torch light, and jerk your hand up with enough strength to bring the collection of vines up through the stone walls in front of you, creating a wall of vines. 

You make a hole big enough where you can see the ratman, you smile at him serenely, taking in his wide eyes and the squealing of the smaller rats. "Walk away, with your life. Or stay and try me."

"Get her!" He growls, glaring at you with hatred burning in his eyes. 

The bigger rats start to swarm, swinging against the vines in front of you, trying to knock it down and get to you. You hear claws to the side and see a bunch of rats trying to flank you, another jerk of your hand has vines closing off the side and closing the gap above you, leaving you boxed by vines and stone. 

The squeals get louder, as do ratman's screams, and the activity of the attacking rats get more frantic, more urgent. 

"Bring her to me! Attack her! Claw through it! Bite through it! Get her!!" 

You sit down on the steps and wait, the vines will stay until you send them away, and you aren't planning on doing that until the rats disappear. 

You could kill them all, all you'd need to do is pull groundwater up to the surface, you could drawn them. Or you could cause an isolated earthquake that has the whole place collapsing in and crushing them. 

Above the squealing of the rats and the thumbing of their bodies slamming against the vines and ratman's screams comes a new sound, claws on stone, echoing around the dungeon, getting closer. 

Curiosity has the vines creating small little windows that you can look through to see a new ratman come scrambling through the tunnel, sending the other rats running everywhere, squeaking and squealing. 

The new ratman's fur is black and he's got a pair of Jean cutoffs on over his slightly bent legs. 

You watch as the lesser rats pull away from the stairs and your barriers, flowing back out through the tunnels, your brows go up in surprise. 

"What are you doing here?" The new ratman asks the blond one. 

"The master called and I obeyed."

"I am your king. You obey me." 

Blondie says, "You are only our king until you die. If you stand against the master, that will be soon. She is powerful, more powerful than you." 

You watch the king leap, a black blur, he jerks the blonde ratman off his feet, holding him with slightly bent elbows, feet dangling off the ground. He pulls the blond one close to his face. "I am your king, and you will obey me or I will kill you." Clawed hands dig into the blond ratman's throat, until he scrambles for air.

The rat king tosses the ratman across the room towards the tunnel. "Take him and go. Now." He hisses to the other giant rats. 

The giant rats grumble but they get the blonde ratman and drag him with them back into the tunnel. 

"Are you all right?" the new ratman asks, standing at the edge of the stairs.

You release your hold on the vines and they sink back down into the earth. "Oh, just peachy keen."

He looks up at you, sniffing the air a few times, eyes scanning you. "You aren't like other humans."

"Nope, uniquely individual...thanks for the rescue I guess." 

"I did not come to save you," he says. "I have forbidden my people to hunt for the vampire. That is why I came."

You nod your head, scanning your own eyes over him, noticing a burn scar on his left forearm, a crude shape of a crown. "Wouldn't it be easier just to carry around a crown and scepter?"

He glances down at his arm, then gives that rat smile, teeth bare. "This leaves my hands free… What do the vampires want with you?" he asks.

"They want me to work for them."

"Do it. They'll hurt you if you don't."

"I can handle myself. And I'll be taking some extra steps tomorrow." There's something you've been holding off on because you hate needles,  _ I'll just have to suck it up.  _ "Will you be hurt for calling them off?" 

He shrugs, an awkward motion. "Nikolaos thinks she is queen of the rats because that is her animal to call. We are not merely rats, but men, and we have a choice. I have a choice."

"Do what she wants, and she won't hurt you." You deadpan.

He chuckles. "I give good advice. I do not always take it."

"Same."

He stares at you out of one black eye, looks behind you towards the door. "They are coming."

You know who they are. The rat king nods at you and runs down the tunnel, so fast he's just a black blur until he disappears in the darkness. 

Soon you hear heels clicking down the hallway and turn just in time to see Theresa open the door. She stares down at you and the empty room, hands on her hips, mouth squeezed tight. "Where are they?"

"Gone."

She looks you over, subtly sniffing the air for blood, you smile sweetly at her and she glares at you. "They weren't supposed to leave," she says, then making an exasperated sound low in her throat. "It was that rat king of theirs, wasn't it?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes." She takes a step off the landing, down and closer to you. "How are you...unscathed?"

"I deal in magic, just because I focus on the dead doesn't mean I can't raise other things…when the needs arise." You hope the blond rat doesn't go telling his master you have more powered rings on you, hopefully he's stupid enough to have missed the flash of light. 

Her eyes narrow. "The rats were supposed to frighten you, animator. They don't seem to have done their job."

"Maybe I don't frighten that easily." 

Theresa grins at you, flashing fang. "Nikolaos will find something that frightens you, animator. For fear is power." She whispers the last as if afraid to say it too loud.

_ What do vampires fear _ ? You ask yourself,  _ do visions of sharpened stakes and garlic haunt them, or are there worse things? How do you frighten the dead _ ?

"Walk in front of me, animator. Go meet your master."

"Isn't Nikolaos your master as well, Theresa?"

She stares at you, face blank, her eyes cold and dark. "Before the night is out, animator, Nikolaos will be everyone's master."

"Not mine. Never mine."

"Claude's power has made you foolish."

You shake your head. "I'd rather die than be a vampire's flunky."

Theresa nods, very slowly. "You may get your wish."

Your stomach flutters with fear but you steel yourself. You raise the dead, you've fought and killed vampires. You've got this. 

_ I've got this.  _

_ I hope.  _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Anita meets her enemies.

The room is huge, with walls that are solid, massive stone. You keep waiting for Bela Lugosi to sweep around the corner in his cape but what's sitting against one wall is almost as good. 

The little vampire must have been between eleven and twelve when she was turned, she was pale when she was alive, now she's ghostly as a vampire. She's got on a long pale blue, flimsy dress, that looks warm against the total whiteness of her skin and shows off her small, quarter-formed breasts. 

You close your eyes and focus on something other than her.  _ Sometimes my loli fetish can be a pain in the ass.  _ You just hope no one smells your arousal or sees the hard on that's quickly filling the crotch area of your jeans. 

Nikolaos sits on a carved wooden chair, her feet dangling off the edge. It's almost wrong how cute it is, how sexy. 

A male vampire moves to lean on the chair arm, his skin a brownish ivory shade, he leans over and whispers in Nikolaos's ear. 

She laughs, it's soft like twinkling bells. It's a very lovely, calculated sound. 

Theresa walks up to the girl and stands behind the chair, her fingers trailing through long white-blonde hair. 

There's a human male that stands close to the right of the chair, back against the wall with his hands clasped at his side and he stares straight ahead, face blank, spine rigid. He's nearly perfectly bald with a narrow face and dark eyes, he's handsome looking but with the air of a man who doesn't care much about that. 

He's a soldier. 

Another man comes to lean against Theresa, his sandy blond hair is cut short and he has a strange face with eyes a pale green. You know he isn't a human, but you can't call him human either. 

Claude rounds off the party, standing to the left of the chair, she touches no one, perfectly apart from them.

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets and wait for Nikolaos to start, imagining her pretty pink lips wrapped around the- _ nope, think puppies and rainbows. She's a vampire that's forcing you to work for her, no sex thoughts Anita!  _

"Look me in the eyes." A soft, very childlike voice speaks and you want to groan. 

You bring your eyes down from where you're looking over at her shoulder and look her right in the eyes, which are a grayish blue, sparkle. Her face is round, forever stuck with those last bits of baby fat, and pleasent. 

_ Harmless? Who, you? Nope.  _

The black vampire whispers in her ear again and she laughs, so high and clear you could have bottled it.

_ Dead grandmothers, dead, rotting grandmother.  _

You feel a tsunami of power hit you, it's so powerful, so intense, that you take a step back, gasping. It doesn't knock down your mental wall, doesn't influence you or bespell you but it definitely gets your attention. 

The laughter seeps out of her face at your endurance of her power. There's nothing funny in her eyes now, they study you like a hungry cat studies small birds. 

"How fascinating. So few can resist our influence. None can resist mine."

You shrug. "Can we get down to business? I'm not getting any younger."

"I am beginning to see why Aubrey lost his temper." Her voice was is dry, humorless. "Speaking of Aubrey, I really ought to punish  _ you _ …"

You stare at the little girl, clenching your jaw. You have to be  _ so _ careful, respectful, you want to walk out of here alive. But you've always had issues with authority, especially corrupt authority. 

"Look, I'll work for you, lynching you for everything you have, but you bring my friends or family into this,  _ again _ . And I'll show you  _ all  _ what I am capable of."

She smiles at you. "Is that a threat  _ human _ ?" 

You smile back. "It's a promise."

You could hear a pin drop in the room it's so quiet, all the vampires stare at you, probably trying to decide if you're brave or stupid. 

"Do you know how old I am?" Nikolaos finally asks after two full minutes of silence. 

You stare at her, considering the weight of her influence, the sheer intensity of it. "A thousand years, maybe a little more. It's hard to tell." 

"Why is it hard to tell?" 

You grimace, you hate explaining this aloud, it always sounds more mystical than it is. You just know vampires, the same way people know horses or cars, no other animator can do it, no other warlock or voodoo priestess can do it. 

It's something unique to you. 

"It's just how it feels. I can't explain it."

She looks at you, eyes scrutinizing you so intensely your small hairs stand on end. "You have my promise that no more of your friends or family shall be used against you. You find out who is killing vampires in my town and I will pay you three million dollars, with a five hundred thousand dollar retainer. Satisfactory?" 

"Add in no retribution for Aubrey, and a hostile work environment penalty of another two million and you have a deal."

The soldier standing to her right looks at you as if you've done something surprising. 

Nikolaos stands, moving a little in front of her entourage. She comes up to just a little above your hipline, looking small and delicate. The hem of her dress drags on the floor as she walks towards you slowly, with measured steps. 

She stops a foot away from you, having to look way up now to be able to look into your eyes. She holds out her hand and crooks a finger at you. 

You stare up at the other vampires before hesitantly kneeling down to her level. You hope she doesn't want to kiss you, that would just suck. 

_ Ha _ .

Nikolaos comes close to you now, face to face, so close you can smell the peppermint breath mints she ate, and the fainter smell of blood on her breath. "I can't peel your mind like an onion, I know that now. But there are worst fates and I will find them, just for you." She whispers softly, her cool fingers reaching out to caress your face like a lover would.

Your cock weeps pre-cum, painfully hard. You breath in and swallow hard but you know by the little grin and the amusement shining in her eyes, she knows she affects you. Likes that she affects you. 

_ God help me. I'm going to hell.  _

"Do you believe me?" She asks softly, her fingers grazing your lips and your labaret. 

You nod, not trusting your voice. 

She smiles victorious and steps back. "You may get up animator." She turns around and walks back to her throne. 

You stand up, hoping the bulge in your pants isn't too noticeable, and bend at the waist to dust your knees, glad to see it's not much bigger than it normally is. 

"The police are aware of only four vampire murders. There have been six more." Nikolaos says as she sits back down, relaxing into her chair. 

"Why not tell the police?" Your voice is steady, hallelujah! 

"My dear animator, there are many among us who do not trust the human laws. We know how equal human justice is for the undead." She smiles, dimples on full display. "Claude was the fifth most powerful vampire in this city. Now she is the third."

Your eyes widen and you look over to Claude. You've killed vampires, none as strong as Claude, but each gave you trouble. So for someone to kill  _ two _ Master vampires, both stronger than Claude. 

_ Shit _ . 

"Any chance I could get hazard pay?" You ask. 

Nikolaos laughs. "You do grasp the situation quickly. I will give you that. And perhaps that will make Claude's punishment less - severe. She recommended you to us, did you know that?"

You exhale through your nose, clenching your jaw. You don't look at her, not again.  _ From here on out, she's puplic enemy number one.  _

"You're angry she brought you into this?" 

"Because of her my friend was put in harms way. So yeah. I am angry at her."

Nikolaos smiles, face turning to Claude. "Do you want to kill her animator?" 

You clench your hands into fists and pull your jacket tighter around yourself before your eyes drift over to Claude. You can see in her eyes what you're feeling in your guts, she's afraid, afraid of Nikolaos. 

"No." You say, and it's true, if only because she's the only ally you have in this room. 

"No, no." She minces the word, crying it up and down, a child's imitation. "Fine." Her voice is suddenly lower, grownup, shimmering with heat, angry. "We will give you a gift, animator. We have a witness to the second murder. He saw Lucas die. He will tell you everything he saw, won't he, Zachary?" She smiles at the sandy-haired man.

Zachary nods. He steps from around the chair and sends a low bow towards you. His lips are too thin for his face, his smile crooked, his ice-green eyes stay with you. 

You've seen his face before but you can't remember from where. 

He strides to a small door, one you noticed before but dismissed for the moment. Zachary opens the door with a flourish, like a magician drawing a curtain, and a man stands in the door. He's dressed in the remains of a business suit, he's slender, maybe a little thick around the middle from too many beers and too little exercise. 

"Come," Zachary says.

The man moves out into the room, his eyes round with fear, he stinks of fear and death.

He's still tan, eyes still full, he could pass for a human better than any vampire in the room, but he's more a corpse than any of them. 

You know a zombie when you see one. 

"Do you remember Nikolaos?" Zachary asks.

The zombie's eyes grow large, and the color drains from his face. "Yes."

"You will answer Nikolaos's questions, do you understand that?"

"I understand." His forehead wrinkles like he's concentrating on something, something he can't quite remember.

"He would not answer our questions before. Would you?" Nikolaos says.

The zombie shakes its head, eyes staring at her with a sort of fearful fascination. 

"We tortured him, but he was most stubborn. Then before we could continue our work, he hung himself. We really should have taken his belt away." She sound wistful, pouty. 

The zombie stares at her. "I . . . hung myself. I don't understand. I . . ."

"He doesn't know?" You ask.

Zachary smiles. "No, he doesn't. Isn't it fabulous? You know how hard it is to make one so human, that he forgets he has died."

You do know, it means somebody has a  _ lot  _ of power. Zachary is staring at the confused undead like he is a work of art. 

"You raised him?"

"Did you not recognize a fellow animator?" Nikolaos laughs lightly. 

You look at Zachary and see him staring at you, eyes memorizing you, his face blank but with something that makes the skin under one eye jump. Anger? Fear? Then he smiles at you and you swear you've seen him before. 

"Ask your question, Nikolaos. He has to answer now."

"Is that true?" Nikolaos asks you.

"Yes."

"Who killed the vampire, Lucas?"

He stares at her, face crumbling. His breathing is shallow and too fast.

"Why doesn't he answer me?"

"The question is too complex," Zachary explains. "He may not remember who Lucas is."

"Then you ask him the questions, and I expect him to answer." Her voice is warm with the threat.

Zachary turns with a flourish, spreading his arms wide. "Ladies and gentlemen, behold, the undead." He grins at his own joke. 

No one else smiles. 

"Did you see a vampire murdered?"

The zombie nods. "Yes."

"How was he murdered?"

"Heart torn out, head cut off." His voice is paper-thin with fear.

"Who tore out his heart?"

The zombie starts to shake his head over and over, quick, jerky movements. "Don't know, don't know."

"Ask him what killed the vampire," You add.

Zachary shoots me a look, angry at the interruption. 

"This is my zombie, my business!"

"Zachary," Nikolaos says.

He turns to her, movements stiff.

"It is a good question. A reasonable question." Her voice is low, calm, but no one is fooled. 

"Ask her question, Zachary."

He turns back to the zombie, hands balled into fists. You don't get where the anger is coming from. "What killed the vampire?"

"Don't understand." The guy is panicked and you feel bad for him. 

"What sort of creature tore out the heart? Was it a human?"

"No."

"Was it another vampire?"

"No."

This is why zombies don't do well in a court, you have to lead them by hand, so to speak, to get the answers. Lawyers accuse you of leading the witness, and it's true, but it doesn't mean the zombie is lying. 

"Then what killed the vampire?"

His head shakes back and forth, his mouth open but no sounds coming out. "Can't!"

"What do you mean, can't?" Zachary screams it at him and slaps him across the face. The zombie throws up its arms to cover its head. 

"You . . . will . . . answer . . . me." Each word is punctuated with a slap.

The zombie falls to its knees and starts to cry. "Can't!"

"Answer me, damn you!" He kicks the zombie, and it collapses to the ground, rolling into a tight ball.

"Stop it." You say, walking towards them. "Stop it!"

He kicks the zombie one last time and turns on me. "It's my zombie! I can do what I want with him."

"That used to be a human being. It deserves more respect than this." You say, glaring at him before you kneel by the crying zombie. You can feel Zachary looming over you but ignore him. 

Nikolaos says, "Leave her alone, for now."

You touch the zombie's arm and it finches, shuffling away from you. "It's okay, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you." You coo softly, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. 

You feel bad for the guy, he killed himself to escape, but not even the grave was sanctuary enough.  _ That's why I'm getting cremated, can't do shit with ashes.  _

You wish you could say no animator would do something like this, but animators are just people, good and bad. 

You have to peel the zombie's hands from his face then turn his face up to stare at you. One look is enough. You drop his head and sit back on your haunches. 

His dark eyes are wide with fear, incredible fear. A line of spittle is oozing from his mouth. 

You stand and look at Zachary in disgust. "You've broken him."

"Damn right. No damn zombie is going to make a fool of me. He'll answer the questions."

You look at him in disbelief. "So much power and you don't get it? You broke his fucking  _ mind _ ." 

"Zombies don't have minds."

"They don't. But all they have, for a  _ very  _ short time is the memory of what they were. Treat them well and they can retain their personalities for a week, maybe more. This." You point at the zombie before looking over to Nikolaos. "Ill treatment speeds up the process. Shock  _ destroys _ it."

"What are you saying, animator?"

"He's destroyed the zombie's mind. It won't be answering any more questions. Not for  _ anyone.  _ Not  _ ever _ ."

"You arrogant…" A tremor runs through her body, from her small, bare feet to her long white-blond hair. You take a step back with the force of Nikolaos's power and expect the wooden chair to catch fire with the heat her angry eyes are projecting. "Get out of here before I kill you. Take the woman and see her safely back to her car. If you fail me again, large or small, I will tear your throat out, and my children will bathe in a shower of your blood."

It's graphic, over the top, but amazingly graphic. And it's all you need, walking towards the small door. 

Zachary takes the time to bow, eyes never leaving her face, then he's behind you, hurrying to keep up with your long strides. You're almost tempted to turn around and ask whether her lawyer or your lawyer is going to prepare the contract, but decide discretion is the better part of valor. 

At the door you turn around and catch sight of Claude, looking less human as her humanity slips away. You can feel the full force of her power slamming into your shield and you know she took it easy on you. 

Zachary brushes past you and you catch sight of Nikolaos, slowly levitating up, her hair dancing around her skeleton hand. You pull the door shut and rush up the stairs, putting as much distance between you, that door, and the monsters on the other side of it. 

Zachary is further up the stairs and he holds a hand out to you, his face slick with sweat. "Please." His hand flutters at you. 

A smell starts oozing from under the door, rotting corpses. It's the smell of bloated bodies, skin cracked and ripening in the sun, the blood slowed and rotting in the veins. 

"Oh, God," Zachary whispers, he puts one hand over his mouth and nose, the other still held out to you.

You've smelled worse to be honest. You ignore his hands and walk further up, but the door starts to creak, the wood shaking and buckling, like a wind is beating against it. Wind whooshes from under the door, sending your jacket flying, the scent of death is strong in the air. 

You and Zachary share a look, a moment of recognition of you against them, or it. You both turn and start running up the stairs, you outpacing Zachary with your years of track and your intensive exercise regimen. 

Half way up an explosion rips up the stairs, the wind buffering against you, the door is blown open. Zachary scrambles on his hands and knees and you drag him up, tugging him along. 

_ Fuck my life. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude shows her true colors and Anita encounters an old enemy.

There's a howling from behind you, out of sight, the wind roars up and it gets harder to run. Zachary grabs your hand and holds on tight, the walls are smooth and the stone stairs are slick, there's nothing to hold on to. You and Zachary flatten yourself against the stairs and hang on to each other. 

" _ Anita _ ." Claude's voice whispers. " _ Anita _ ." 

You clench your jaw and shake your head, she's not here, but she's calling out, calling you to her.

" _Anita_." Something glimmers, blue fire, two point of blue flame. Claude's eyes, hanging on the wind and focused on you. They start to float downwards, the wind not touching them or knocking them away. 

You scramble backwards as they keep coming lower and lower, you don't want them touching you, you don't know  _ exactly  _ what will happen if they do, but you know it won't be good. 

" _ Forgive me _ ."  _ crap, crap, crap _ . Claude's voice is in your head, fucking vampire, you're at her mercy now, she can bypass your fucking shield and get into your mind now, your worst nightmare. 

The blue lights are suddenly in front of your face, you try hitting the fire but your hands pass through because it's not actually there. "Don't do this. Please don't do this." You hate it, your voice is weak and begging. 

" _ Forgive me _ ." The fire melt into your eyes and the world turns into blue glass, silent, nothing, blue ice. Claude whispers softly, " _ run, run _ ." 

You blink your eyes and you're sitting on the stairs. The wind stops like someone turned a switch and the silence is deafening. 

You sit and catch your breath, tears stinging your eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. 

Zachary's voice is hoarse and too loud in the silence. "Your eyes, they glowed blue!" He's trying to whisper but it comes out loud. 

"Shut up!" You say harshly, glaring at him. Nikolaos can't know what Claude has done, she'd kill you just to spite Claude and you like being a living, breathing person. 

"Fucking vampires." You grind out and stand up. "Let's get out of here." You say, pulling Zachary up to his feet and up the stairs. 

You want to put the vampires as far behind you as possible. 

Running uphill is always harder than running a straight, flat plain and Zachary is starting to realize this with his increased breathing and the little wheezing sounds he makes. 

_ This is why I run, _ you think to yourself, slinging one arm over your shoulders and shouldering some of his weight. You feel bad for the guy, asshole though he is, you know his thighs must be on fire, that there's probably a stitch in his side that's stinging. 

"Stop! Stop, please. I can't." Zachary comes to a stop and you're forced to too, he shrugs away from you and sinks down to the stairs, breathing harshly, taking big gasping breaths. 

You're a long way from the door now, but still too close for your liking, you want to get out of this place. You  _ need  _ to, you life depends on it. 

"We need to get going." 

"I can't. I just can't." Zachary whines, shaking his head. He's obviously not a runner, otherwise he'd know to keep moving less his muscles tighten up. 

Sounds come from further up the stairs and you freeze, looking up the stairs, wishing you had a watch, hoping it's not more vampires. 

Zachary stands up and turns to face up the stairs. You stand with your back to the wall and look up, you want your gun, your knife, you want a fucking granade launcher or an anti-personel weapon or even a fucking nuke. 

You want an obvious weapon to keep your power rings incognito. 

You're standing just below a landing, a turn in the stairs and you wish you can see around corners. A man walks around the corner, human, his neck even unmarked. 

He's got cotton-white hair shaved close to his neck and he's muscular, his biceps bigger than your taut thighs and his neck bulging with muscles. He's three inches taller than your six feet and you don't think there's any fat on his body. 

His eyes are an icy blue and he's the first bodybuilder you've seen that doesn't have a tan, his skin is whiter than your father's. 

"What's your top bench?" You ask, kind of jealous of his arms. 

You can bench bress twice your own body weight, four times when you have enhanced strength. But you'll never get those ham hawks that he calls arms. 

He smiles, close lipped and speaks with the mare minimum of lip movement, never giving you a glimpse of his incisors. "Four hundred."

"Impressive."

He smiles, careful not to show teeth, he's trying to play the vampire. Such a careful act is wasted on you. 

"This is Winter," Zachary says. The name is too perfect to be real, like a 1940s movie star.

"What is happening?" Winter.

"Our master and Claude are fighting," Zachary says.

Winter draws a deep, sighing breath, his eyes widening just a bit. "Claude?" He makes it sound like a question.

Zachary nods and smiles. "Yes, she's been holding out."

"Who are you?" he asks.

"Anita Blake." You say, hands tucking into your jacket pockets. 

He smiles then, flashing nice normal teeth at last. "You're The Executioner?"

"Yep."

He laughes, the sound echoing between the stone walls. The silence seemed to tighten around you and the laughter stops abruptly, a dew of sweat on his lip. 

Winter feels it and feared it, his voice is low, almost a whisper, as if he's afraid of being overheard. "You look too young to be The Executioner."

You grin at him. "Good genes. Can we get out of here please? It's pass my bedtime." 

Winter smiles, almost laughing again. He swallow, eyes shiny. "I was sent to check on Nikolaos." 

The silence pulses with the name. A bead of sweat drips down his face. 

_ Important safety tip: never say the name of an angry master vampire when they are within "hearing" distance. _

"She can take care of herself," Zachary whispers, but the sound echoed anyway.

Winter stares at the two of you, eyes trembling on. Mr. Macho. "Come," he says and turns without waiting to see if you'll follow. 

You follow. 

The stairs open into a square chamber, an electric bulb dangling from the ceiling. You exhale a big sigh of relief at the sign that you're leaving behind the underground camper of horrors behind and entering the real world. 

There are two doors leading out of the stone room, one straight ahead and one to the right. Music floats from the door in front of you, high, bright circus music, the door opens, the music gets loud and you get the glimpse of bright colors and hundreds of people milling about. 

You laugh, it starts as a soft chuckle and ends on a slightly hysterical note. You laugh until tears come to your eyes, pouring out all your fear, anxiety and terror. 

You're in Circus of the Damned. St. Louis's Master Vampire lives under Circus of the Damned. 

_ Can this night get more ridiculous?  _

You finally get yourself under control, taking deep gasping breaths and bringing your hand up to wipe tears from your eyes. You see Winter and Zachary giving you weird looks. 

You also see that the door is shut and there's a new guy leaning against the door. He's tall, slender and dressed like a riverboat gambler, royal purple coat, lace at the neck and down the front, straight black pants, shiny boots and a gold mask covering everything but his mouth and chin. 

Dark eyes stare at you through the mask and his tongue dances over his lips and teeth, over his fangs. 

"I was afraid I would miss you, Executioner." His voice has a Southern thickness to it. 

Winter moves to stand between you, it's actually kind of sweet. The vampire laughs and jeers. "The muscle man here thinks he can protect you. Shall I tear him to pieces to prove him wrong?"

"What do you want?" You say, Zachary moving up to stand beside you. 

"Do you recognize my voice?" the vampire asked.

You remember his body pinning you to the ground, his teeth tearing at your arm while you kept him away from your throat. You remember the snap of bone where he bit through, your screams, his hand forcing your head back. He missed your neck but his teath sank into your collarbone, snapping the bone. 

You remember your fingers touching the smooth glass of the vial of Holy Water that was in your bag, scattered by the half-human servants. He never looked at you, his focus on your wound, his teeth exploring the hole he made, his teeth grating on naked bone. 

You flipped the lid on the vial open and splashed his face, you remember the satisfaction as his skin popped, bubbled and boiled.

You thought he was still in the house when it burned down, you hoped he died, wanted him dead. 

He's the reason why you always have your rings on, why you always have multiple weapons on you.  _ Never again.  _

"It has been three years. I didn't know until this business came up that you were The Executioner. I thought you died."

"What do you want?" You repeat again, hands clenching. 

"Please don't do this," Zachary says. "The master has ordered me to see the woman safely to her car."

"I don't intend to harm a hair on her head - tonight." The mask gets lifted away and you see the damage, the left side of his face is scared, melted away with only his brown eye still whole and alive, rolling in a circle of pinkish-white scar tissue. "What, no scream of horror? No gasp of fright? You disappoint me, Executioner. Don't you admire your own handiwork?"

"What do you want from me? To feel sorry? I'm not, and I will  _ never  _ be."

He smiles, and the muscles on his scarred cheek pulls the smile to one side, making it a grimace. Even vampires can't heal everything. "Eternity, Executioner, eternity like this." He caresses the scars with a gloved hand.

"Come after me and Nikolaos will have to pay me extra."

He laughs. "You think she cares about you? About money? It's nothing. You're nothing. And when she's finished with you, you'll be  _ mine _ ." 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. I've learned and grown a lot in three years. Now get the fuck out of the way."

"Show me the scars. I want to see the scars I gave you, see that you remember me, like I remember you."

"No." You say, adamant, unwilling to give him that. 

"Come, girl, don't be shy, I seen it all before. I tasted your blood. Show me the scars, and the muscle man won't have to die proving how strong he is."

You glance at Winter, massive fists crossed over his chest, spine vibrating with readiness. The vampire is right, Winter would die trying. 

You don't need that on your already stained conscious. 

You pull your arm out of your jacket and yank the sleeve up, exposing the mound of scar tissue that decorates the bend of your arm, crisscrossing and flowing down to the edge of your arm. The cross-shape burn takes up the only clear space on the inside of your arm. 

"I didn't think you'd ever use that arm again, after the way I tore into it."

"Physical therapy is a wonderful thing."

"Ain't no physical therapy gonna help me."

You say nothing and undo the top buttons of your Henley shirt, spreading the neck open as wide as you can to show off your collarbone and the scars that ridge it. 

"I was hoping you'd be shaking in fear. Stinking with it. But you're calm, your heart steady. But you'll always remember me, when you wash, when you fuck, you'll always be haunted by me like you haunt me." 

"There is a difference, you know." You say, pulling your clothes back to order, feeling raw exposing yourself like this to Nikolaos's flunkies. 

"And what might that be?"

"You were trying to kill me. I was defending myself."

"And why had you come to our house? To put stakes through our hearts. You came to our house to kill us. We didn't go hunting for you."

"But you did go hunting for twenty-three other people. That's a lot of people. Your group had to be stopped."

"Who appointed you, God? Who made you our executioner?"

You look him right in the eyes, smile on your face. "The police."

"Bah." He spits on the floor, telling you exactly how he feels about that. "You work real hard, girl. You find the murderer, then we'll finish up."

"Come after me and you'll end up like Aubrey. I'm not that same girl. I'm a whole lot more dangerous now."

He smiles at you. "You're still human girl. You ain't shit."

You scoff and shake your head. "Can I go now?" 

"By all means. You're safe tonight, because the master says so, but that will change."

Zachary says, "Out the side door." He walks nearly backwards watching the vampire as you move away. Winter stays behind, guarding your backs.  _ Idiot _ .

Zachary opened the door. The night is hot and sticky. Summer wind slaps against your face, humid, close, and beautiful.

"Remember the name Valentine, 'cause you'll be hearing from me." The vampire calls out. 

You and Zachary walk out the door and it clangs shut behind you. You exhale a deep breath and make a mental remind to go to the first tattoo parlor tomorrow morning, as soon as possible. 

"You got a gun with silver bullets in it?" Zachary asks as you start walking.

"You don't need to worry Zachary. I'm very proficient at killing vampires. He just needs to be stupid enough to come at me and I'll have all the justification I need." You say. 

"I'll bet." He quips. "You must hate vampires."

"I don't hate them."

"Then why do you kill them?"

"Because it's my job, and I'm good at it." 

You turn a corner and you can see the parking lot where you left your car. God, it feels like you parked your car days ago but it's probably only been a few hours. You can't check your phone because like your knife they took it, you just hope it's still intact and you've never liked wearing watches. 

"I'm your daytime contact. If you need anything, or want to give a message, here's my number." He shoves a matchbook into your hand, he also pulls your phone, ring and silver dagger from his back pocket. 

You check your phone first to see if it's broken, it's not, it's still in perfect working condition and when you unlock it all your stuff is still there so the vampires didn't try to unlock it. The phone goes into your pocket, the dagger slides back into the sheath with a soft  _ click _ and the ring goes back on your finger, crackling with electricity. 

Before you pocket the match book you study it, seeing the  _ Circus of the Damned _ in red on a black field, you stuff the matchbook in your pants pocket. "I'll have my lawyer draw up the contract. I'll sign later today and Nikolaos can sign it when she gets up."

You stare at Zachary, right in the eyes. "If her signature isn't on it I won't consider it valid and I won't do shit. Tell her that. Because I'm not working with vampires without that guarantee."

Zachary waits until you're sitting in your car before he replies, looking at you through the open window. "You're either very brave or very stupid. But alright, I'll tell her."

You start the car and roll the window up as you pull out. Brave or stupid, your father taught you never to take anyone by their word, unless their word is recorded with ink and paper and outline with clear, understandable language. 

Or caught on audio. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Claude's still a conniving bitch and Ronnie is introduced.

For the second time you see the sun come up and you're starting to feel grumpy, as you sync your phone to the car's bluetooth you consider who to be grumpy at, yourself, Monica, Claude or Nikolaos. 

"Call Kitty." You say, drumming your fingers against the wheel, you can't wait to get home to your blacked-out apartment. 

The phone rings four times before it's picked up. " _ Nita? _ " There's sleep still in her voice, the undernote of anxiety too. 

"Hey kitten."

There's a gust of air on the other and the squeak of bed springs. " _ Oh thank God. Are you okay?"  _

"About as okay as ever. I need you to draw up a contract, Nikolaos is paying me a five hundred thousand retainer, three million upon completion. I want a no present or future retribution clause for the death of vampires that attack me first, a hostile work environment penalty of two million with a self-defense add and I need you to put in hazard pay, fifty thousand or up."

Catherine is quiet but you can hear the scratching of pen on paper. " _ You're going to work for them? _ " 

"And lynch them. I don't have any other choice Catherine." You replay gripping the wheel so tight your hands turn white and start to cramp. 

" _ I'll draw it up and email it to you. Should I send it to them too? _ " 

"I'll email it to my daytime contact. Thanks kitty."

" _ Nita, you'll be careful right? _ " 

You smile. "Yeah babe, no unnecessary risks."

" _ Okay. I love you. _ "

"I love you too." You hang up and lean back into your seat, sighing. Your body feels stiff and there's a dull ache at the back of your skull indicating a headache. 

You pull up to your apartment, park and sit in the car for minute before you get out. You open the boot to get your pistols, taking your jacket off quickly to shrug on the holster, you sheath some of your kunai into the holster and tuck the tanto into the back of your jeans. 

Maybe it's overkill, but after the night you've had, you don't care. 

You have the urge to whistle to break the silence you feel in the corridor of your building, it's stifling and brings up memories you want to firmly put in the past. 

Keys in hand you come up to your door and pause, the door is ajar, it's a tiny crack, almost closed but not quiet. With instinct you move to the right wall, one gun in hand and held firmly, you're alert to every shadow, the way the light falls, hoping they didn't hear the keys jingling and you've still got the element of surprise. 

You listen, trying to find any sound coming from your apartment, none. You know at least it's not going to be a vampire, even if one was stupid enough to disobey Nikolaos, it's almost true dawn, no vampire would cut it that close. 

Of course, it could be a vampire's human servant, taking the initiative, or a random thief who just chose the wrong apartment.  _ So many options, not enough time.  _

You consider what to do, you could out wait them, could go guns blazing, kick the door open and just start shooting. Or, you reach for your phone and go to the dialer, you put your key volume on its loudest and hold the phone close to the door as you tap three numbers. 

"That's me dialing 911. So either come out with your hands up or we have a standoff while the cops come."

The door opens and you shift forwards with your gun right in whoevers face. "Don't shoot."

You drop your hand and tuck your gun back into the holster, glaring at the woman in front of you. "Fuck you, you almost gave me a heart attack." You say, pushing past her into the apartment, your jacket gets thrown on the couch, your shoes get kicked off, your belt and weapon holsters slung over the edge. 

You drop into the couch bonelessly, arm slung over your eyes. You hear the click of the door closing and locking then the shuffle of her sneakers. "You hesitated." She sing songs and you grunt in response. 

"What do you want Enid?" You feel weight settle over your hips and lift your arm to see her sitting on her knees on your lap, leaning over you with a grin on her face. 

Enid is not as physically imposing as you are, coming in at just five foot six, she's slender, blond, blue-eyed and charmingly deadly when she wants to be. You once saw her use a flamethrower on vampires, it killed them,  _ and  _ burned their den to the ground. 

If you're the Executioner, than she's Death itself. 

She carries more firepower than Rambo and is too careless with innocent bystanders. She started as a hit woman, trained by the military to be an elite assassin, and when that got boring she turned to vampires and lycanthropes to keep that thrill. 

She bounces on your lap, bringing your emotionally disturbed cock back to life, she grins when she feels you start to press into her and leans over you, hands on each side of your head, eyes locked on yours, noses almost touching. 

"Are you hurt?" 

"No." 

"It must have been some party. I called your office and the night secretary, he sounds  _ hot  _ by the way, said you were out at a bachelorette party." She says, eyes shining with mirth. 

"I ran into a vampire you might know."

She leans up and grinds her ass back into your cock and you inhale sharply, grabbing her hips tightly. 

"Be more specific." She quips, head tilting back, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

"Remember the house you nearly roasted down around us?" You ask, fingers undoing her belt, and jeans, you hook your fingers in under her panties and tug down. 

"About three years ago. We killed six vampires, and two human servants. Manny almost died." Enid says, lifting her hips so you can pull everything down to her knees even as her own nimble fingers pop the buttons of your pants, opening it up, a grin on her face. "Naughty girl."

You lean up on your elbows and see the giant white cum blotch staining your underwear. You drop back into the supple leather of your couch and sigh when your cock gets pulled free from your boxers. "We missed one." You say when Enid's rough hands wraps around you, stroking down. 

"No, we didn't." Her voice is precise, offended at the implication, her hand tightens around your cock before stroking up. 

You look up at her and slowly inch her shirt up, exposing her washboard abs and her lace bra covered breasts. "Said his name is Valentine, wanted to know if he haunts me like I haunt him. Wears a golden mask to keep his acid scared face hidden."

Her thumb rubs against your pre-cum leaking slit, spreading it down your cock head, she leans down, looking you in the eyes as her hand starts to stroke in earnest now, squeezing and gently twisting your cock. "You're leaving something out." She whispers softly, squeezing you around the base tightly. 

You hiss and arch your back, cupping her generous C-cup breasts, squeezing them roughly. 

"Tell me." Enid says softly, pulling her hand back up to rub her palm against your cock head, sending sparks down your spine. 

You look at her and hook an arm around her waist before you use your enhanced strength to flip over, ending on top of her with your hands on either side of her head, most of your weight pressing down on her and your cock bumping into her wet pussy. 

Enid gasps and moans softly, back arching when your cock head bumps against her clit. 

Your wrap one hand around her neck and use your free hand to grip your cock, sliding it through her slick folds until you're nestled at her pussy entrance. You look her in the eyes as you press forward, sliding your cock head just barely into her. "There's been some vampires murdered along the river. How long have you been in town?" 

She smiles and wraps her legs around you as she pushes her hips up, taking more of your thick cock into her tight pussy with a gasp. Her arms come around your neck and she pulls you down until your lips touch. "I heard a rumor you were meeting with the city's head vampire tonight." 

Your hand tightens around her throat, cutting of her airway as you slam your cock into her roughly. Enid gasps, back arching, her eyes rolling back in her head, you can feel her pussy muscles quivering around you as she cums. 

You loosen your grip on her neck and give her a second to come back to her body. She takes big gasping breaths, her pussy squeezing and milking your cock, every time she shifts you hear a wet squelch from underneath her and you know your coat is already stained with cum. 

After a minute her breathing evens out and her pussy just flutters around you instead of squeezing you, she opens her eyes and looks at you with dark and blown pupils. "That's embarrassing." She says softly. 

"How did you know about the meeting?" 

"Will you tell me what it was about?" 

You look at Enid, down your bodies to where you're still inside her, still hard. "I need you to stay out of it. At least until I tell you otherwise."

"Thought so." She says with a sigh. "Up." 

"What?" 

"Since you're not going to give me anything I'll go pump my other sources." She says, pushing at your shoulders. 

"You can't be serious. I just gave you an _orgasm_." 

"Yes, and it was great, really. But I gotta go." She pushes harder and you sit up, pulling out of her, both of you shiver, then Enid sits up, pulling her pants back on. 

You stare at her ass as she puts her shoes on. "Call me when you need me. Later baby." 

"Enid. Come on." You whine, your cock hard and glistening with her cum, she grins and sends you a wink as she walks to the door. 

"Bye." She walks out and closes the door behind her. 

You groan and slump into the couch, thumbing your head back into the cushions. "Leaving me with blue balls." You get up to lock the door, for all the good it'll do you, and go to your room, undressing along the way. 

One of your twin AMT AutoMag IV finds its new homes under your pillow as you climb into bed. You bring something else with you, a stuffed toy penguin named Sigmund, it's something your mother got you, one of the firsts in your vast collection of stuffed animals, you don't sleep with him often, just after a very,  _ very  _ hard day. 

***

_ You're back in the room where Nikolaos had has her throne. It's empty but for a single coffin sat to one side.  _

_ Torchlight gleams off the polished wood and a breeze eases through the room, giving you goosebumps, the torches waver and throw huge black shadows on the walls that seem independent of the light. The more you look at the shadows, the stranger they become, too dark, too thick.  _

_ Your heart speeds up, echoing through your body, hammering in your head until you realize that it's not just your heartbeat.  _

_ Claude, the shadows start crying, Claude, in high whining voices.  _

_ You try to resist but your feet carry you towards the coffin, your legs kneel against your will and your hands grip the lid without your permission.  _

"No. No. Leave me alone." 

_ You're locked in your body, forced to watch as your hands lift up the smooth lid, and blood pours out over your legs, splashes on your arms.  _

"Leave me alone!" 

_ You shuffle back, covered in blood, still warm blood. You watch a pale hand raise out of the blood, it spasms and collapses against the side of the coffin, soon Claude's face floats to the top, her heart fluttering in your head.  _

"Be dead. Stay dead…leave me." 

_ Her eyes fly open, her hand grabbing your wrist, you try to pull free, you pull with all your unenhanced strength, struggling in the iron grip. She sits up, covered in blood, her white shirt dripping with it.  _

"Don't. Oh God, please don't. Please don't." 

_ She pulls you closer, you brace one hand against the coffin, struggling, fighting, trying to pull away. It's useless, she bends over your arm, mouth wide, fangs reaching.  _

_ Her heartbeat is like crashing thunder, loud and deafening.  _

"No! No! NO!" 

_ She looks at you, "I have no choice." Blood drips from her face, her humanity gone. Her fangs sink into your arm, deeply, you screa- _

"Fuck!" Your heart races in your chest, exploding like mortar fire in an active war zone, jarring you. You squeeze your hands, stiff and feeling arthritic, you breath in deep through your nose and exhale through your mouth, again and again until your heart stops hammering. 

After a few minutes you finally notice the doorbell buzzing. You sit up and wince, your back stiff and muscles uncooperative, you grind your teeth and get a pack of ibuprofen from your bedside drawer. 

Prolonged use of the power rings always leave you a little sore the day after. 

You chew on two, grimacing at the bitterness of the pills, and stand up, just as your bedroom door gets thrown open, the glass panes quivering with the violence. 

"Hey Ronnie." You say, giving her an innocent smile. 

She glares at you, not fooled at all. Veronica Sims, private detective, friend, ex-girlfriend, ex-sub. She's five-nine, brunette with porcelain skin, gray eyes, a soft face and a body she takes very good care of. 

"You look like shit." She says, coming into your room, she's dressed in running tights, a sweat absorbant shirt and trainers, her long hair pulled back in a high pony tail. 

You sits down on the bed with a sigh. "I feel like it."

_ It's amazing how ordinary life is, even when people are working to enslave and kill you.  _

She sighs and goes into your bathroom, coming back with a wet washcloth and a glass of water. "Cat called, told me what happened. What are you going to do?" She gives you the glass and you drink the water with big gulps before taking the washcloth and laying it around your neck, sighing softly at the soothing feeling. 

"I'm going to ride it out, I don't have much choice. Either they go after everyone I love, kill me, or they cut their loses and find someone else to do this."

Ronnie looks at you, arms crossed over her. "Run me through what happened and what you need from me." 

You lay down on the bed, you've known Ronnie for four years, she knows how to be discreet and she knows how to take care of herself.  _ But a little extra help wouldn't hurt.  _

"The-" 

_ grrrrr _

You stop yourself, a blush coming on your face. Ronnie arches a brow at you, a grin on her face. 

"I'll make breakfast, you take a shower." She closes the door behind her as she walks out and you can hear the noise of her working in the kitchen. 

You stand up, usually the thought of eating before ten makes you nauseous, but you're hungry, starving actually. Your jaw clenches tight and you walk into the bathroom to take a shower. 

When you're done you check yourself over, looking for fang marks but you don't find any so you dress in joggers and a polo shirt before you head into the living room, where the smell of bacon, pancakes, eggs and coffee catches you and sets your stomach to rumble again. 

"Smells great." You take a seat at the counter, loading your plate with four pancakes, soaked in maple syrup and butter, four thick rashes of crispy bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs. You fill your cup with coffee and dig in, barely stifling a moan of pleasure when you take a bite of pancakes. 

You get a second helping and two more cups of coffee before you sit back on your chair with a pleased sigh, patting your stomach. Ronnie looks at you with a grin on her face, shaking her head at you. 

"It never ceases to amaze me how much you can eat and  _ still  _ look that good. It's unfair, you don't even need to work out."

You shrug, taking a long sip of coffee. "Can't help it." You take another sip before you get down to business, telling Ronnie what happened, though you leave out that Claude has taken the steps to make you a human servant and that it all took place at the Circus of the Damned. 

That's very dangerous information to have. 

When you're done Ronnie gives you a look but doesn't press for what you're keeping from her. You smile and lean across the counter to kiss her nose. 

She scrunches her nose up and glares at you. "What do you want me to do?"

"Ask around. You have access to the hate groups. Like Humans Against Vampires, The League of Human Voters, the usual. See if any of them might be involved with the murders. I can't go near them." You smile. "After all, animators are one of the groups they hate."

"But you do kill vampires."

"Yeah, but I also raise zombies. Too weird for the hardcore bigot."

"All right. I'll check out HAV and the rest. Anything else?"

"Go see Inez to pick up some packages I had her prepare and drop of Kitty's? The other one is yours. I'm going to be busy doing prep work."

Ronnie nods, putting the dishes in the dishwasher for you. "You don't need to blame yourself for what happened with Cat."

"I don't blame myself." 

Ronnie gives you a look,  _ the _ look, the  _ oh really?  _ Look. 

"Okay. If I agreed off the bat they wouldn't have gone after her."

"They would have gone after someone else. And been less gentle about it. They want to use you Anita, they wanted you discouraged and frightened." She smiles then and comes around to you, wrapping her arms around you. "They massively underestimated you."

You sigh and wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her closer into your body, your face tucking into the crook of her neck. 

You would never talk about this with your family, they wouldn't be able to give you the courage you didn't even know you needed. Your family doesn't cope well with what you do, the chances you take, the injuries so they ignore it as best they can. 

You remember when you were in the hospital with your arm in traction and tubes running through you, your step mom was complaining about the fact you weren't married yet. She was worried you'd become an old maid at the ripe age of twenty. 

Judith is not what you'd call a liberated woman, she still hopes you'll marry a man, despite the fact that neither of you would be able to bare children. Unless you marred an intersex male with working female genitalia. 

About the only exception is your fourteen year old half-brother, Joshua, he thinks you're awesome. 

Ronnie pulls away, her fingers caressing your face. "You want me to stay?" 

You shake your head and stand up, towering over her. "It's alright. I should get to work anyway." You lean down and press your lips to hers, kissing her softly. "But thanks baby." 

"You watch your back." She says, stepping out of your hold. 

"You watch yours, too. Being my friend right now may not be the healthiest of avocations."

"Since when was that a news bulletin?"

You glare at her. Even though it is kind of true. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Anita gets a little extra protection and starts on some recon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is my birthday, and I also just finished my last exam of 2020, which has been a crap year. But I'm gonna spam out a few chapters to the people who like this fic.

You roll your shoulders, wincing in pain at the stinging in your spine, you look back at the mirror over your shoulder and look at your new ink. 

Down your spine, from the base of your neck to your tail bone, are runes. 

Elder Futhark, permanently etched into your skin with a mixture of your blood, sage, holy water and liquid silver, which was not easy to make. 

That's the thing about etching runes into your skin, normal ink doesn't do it, you need to make your own, need to infuse it with magic. 

And it takes a lot of time and patience. 

You roll your shoulders, watching the silvery red ink glint in the florescent lights,  _ uruz:  _ the Bull for strength, courage and freedom,  _ thurisaz _ : the Thorn for reaction, defense and regeneration,  _ isa: _ the Ice, for stasis,  _ perthro _ : the Dice Cup for a some extra luck,  _ algiz _ : the Elk for instinct and guardianship,  _ tiwaz: _ the God Tyr for logic in battle,  _ ehwaz _ : the Horse for movement and finally  _ laguz _ : for intuition and renewal. 

You were reluctant to get this done because it's completely untested, you don't know of anyone who has done this and succeeded. 

Also, you have an aversion to needles. 

_ Necessity is the Mother of all Invention.  _ You think. Your phone chimes and you pull your shirt back on, pulling it over your ass at the back to hide the gun holster you're hiding. 

You get your phone out of your jacket pocket and start to move out of the back room of the tattoo parlor, nodding goodbye to Stacy as you leave. You open your emails as walk back towards your car, skimming it before you tuck it back into your jean pocket. 

It's just confirmation from Zachary that he got the emailed contract and that Nikolaos has signed. 

You aren't really surprised that Nikolaos is, or _was_ still up, vampires with a thousand years under their belts are powerful. 

You already signed the contract, happy with the straightforward language. 

Feeling stronger, faster and much more emotionally stable you climb into your car and start the engine, if the runes work the pain in your back will be gone in a bit and you can switch from a hip holster to your shoulder rig. 

And if it doesn't work it's still pretty sick ink that looks cool. At least the silver and holy water in your blood stream might dissuade any vampire from trying to snack on you. 

As you pull up to Animators, Inc., you can't help but smile, already the pain in your back has faded away to nothing and as you think about other runes to add you unclip the holster from your belt and transfer the gun back into your shoulder holster, pulling it on with a sigh of relief. 

You pull a lightweight bomber jacket on and climb out of the car, whistling Queen's We Are The Champians as you walk to the office. 

You're in a new building, there's a psychologist across from you, a plastic surgeon down the hall, two lawyers, one marriage counselor and a real estate company. 

When you started working at Animators, Inc., four years ago it was a spare room above a garage. 

Business is really good. 

Most of the good luck is due to Bethany Vaughn, your boss, she's a businesswoman, a show woman and a moneymaker.

She turned an unusual talent, an embarrassing curse, or a religious experience, raising the dead, into a profitable business. 

You take the elevator up, thinking on a few choice words. Sure Bethany knows how to make this pay, but you're the talent, and no amount of money is worth your life or the lives of your friends. 

The elevator dings, you cross the hall and step out into the reception room, the wallpaper is a pale green with small oriental designs and the carpet is thick and green too. There are plants everywhere. 

Bethany thinks pastel green is smoothing and that the plants add a homey touch. You choose not to comment. 

"Hey." You smile at Mary, the day secretary. She's over fifty, with short hair that doesn't move an inch in the wind thanks to the amount of hair spray she puts on. She's got two grown sons, four grandchildren and treats you like her fifth. 

She gives you her best professional smile as you come through the door. "May I help . . . Oh, Anita, I didn't think you were due in until five."

"I'm not, but I need to speak to Bethany and get some things from my office."

She frowns down at her appointment book, your appointment book. "Well, Jamison is in your office right now with a client." 

The are only three offices in your little area, Bethany uses one and the other two rotate between the rest of you, since most of your work is done in the graveyard, you never really need the offices at the same time. 

"How long will the client be?"

Mary glances down at her notes. "It's a mother whose son is thinking about joining the Church of Eternal Life."

"Is Jamison trying to talk him into it or out of it?"

"Anita!" Mary scolds you, but it's the truth. 

The Church of Eternal Life is the vampire church, the first church in history that guarantees you eternal life, and proves it. No waiting around. No mystery. Just eternity on a silver platter. 

Most people don't believe in their immortal souls anymore. It isn't popular to worry about Heaven and Hell, and whether you are an absolutely good person. So the Church is gaining followers all over the place. 

After all, if you don't believe that it destroys your soul, what do you have to lose? Daylight. Food. Not much to give up.

"Is Bethany with a client, too?"

She glances at the appointment book again. "No, she's free." 

Bethany has the smallest of the three offices, the walls are pastel blue, the carpet two colors darker, how she can think this is soothing you don't know. 

Bethany matches her small blue office, she's five-five, small boned, a ballerina's figure. Her white hair is cut short, framing her face and the steel gray eyes that shine with intelligence. 

"Anita. Have a sit." She waves a business envelope at you. "Originally they offered ten thousand, this is five hundred thousand. Something you wanna tell me?" 

_ Wow, they work quick. _

"They threatened Catherine, Bethany. I told them no in that little  _ meeting  _ you organized. A day later they threaten my friend." 

Bethany sets the check down, pushing it off to the side to be considered later. You stifle a smile, she might love money, but she values all her employees and doesn't like putting your lives in danger, no mater the cost. "Tell me what happened. Leave nothing out."

You tell her, leaving out the human servant and the Circus of the Damned parts but you're as honest as you can be. When you get to the part about Aubrey she grins, a evil glint in her eye at your payback. 

When you're done she leans back into her chair, her manicured nails drumming against her desk as she thinks. You wouldn't think it, given how petite and fragile she looks but Bethany is actually very dangerous. 

She practiced law for twenty years before she turned to managing animators and she can be ruthless. 

"Can you get out of it?" 

"Not an option, either they kill someone I love, they kill me. Or they just do this with another animator. At least I'm more than capable of dealing with them."

She nods in agreement. "You lynching them?" 

You give her a  _ duh  _ look. She smiles and laces her fingers together and resting her chin on them. "I got your new contract in the email, tell Cat 'ouch' by the way, I'll sign it. Seventy-thirty split your way, oversight, final say, veto power  _ and  _ hazard pay."

"You've just knocked the wind out of my sails boss lady." 

"What can Animators, Inc., do to help?"

"I've already got Ronnie working on some things. I think the fewer people involved, the fewer people in danger."

"You always were a humanitarian." Bethany says, sounding disappointed. 

You nod and stand up, done for the moment. But before you leave you lean over the table, bringing your face close to Bethany's. "Send another vampire, or someone with vampiric inclinations my way again and I'm quitting."

She smiles at you, a glint in her eye. "And where will you go?" 

You straighten up. "I'll take my client list. I'm the one who does the radio interviews, the one the articles are focused on. You made sure they focused on me, you thought I was the most marketable out of all of us, when people call Animators they ask for me." 

"You wouldn't make it without me."

You smile. "You positive?" 

The two of your stare at each other, neither looking away, neither blinking. Finally Bethany starts to smile. "It's a pity you didn't go into law. You'd make a cutthroat lawyer." 

Your nose scrunches up. "Ew."

Bethany snorts and laughs before she sobers up and glares down at the check. "I honestly never would have set that meeting if I knew it would endanger Catherine."

"Ouch. Am I chop liver?...I know Bethany, and I honestly don't blame you."

She nods. 

You smile and leave the office, bounce in your step, you'd been sitting on that new contract for almost a year, waiting for the right time to bring it up.  _ Guess they are good for something.  _ You think to yourself. 

The door to the other office is open and a tall blonde woman steps through. She's between forty and fifty, wearing tailored golden pants and a sleeveless blouse the color of eggshell, a gold Rolex glints on her wrist and a wedding band encircled with diamonds adorns her ringfinger. 

She smells of money and you can bet she didn't blink when Jamison talked price. 

A boy steps out after her, just as slender and blond as his mother. He looks fifteen but you know for him to be thinking about joining the Church of Eternal Life he had to be eighteen. 

You shake your head. He's not old enough to legally drink yet, but he can choose to die and live forever. 

America. 

Jamison brings up the rear, smiling solicitously, taking softly to the boy as he walked them to the door. 

You carry a bunch of business cards on you and your fingers twitch to pull one out, to stop the mother and hand it to her. But what's the use? You show her your scars, tell her what you do for the police on the side, you could tell her the downside of vampirism. 

But Jamison will just twist your words around and usher them out. 

When they pass you, you smile pleasently at them and walk to the office, you need a few files. 

Jamison comes back into the office just as you're standing back up, hands full with folders. You look him over, he's got skin the color of dark honey, pale green eyes and his face is framed by long, tight auburn curls. He's the first black man you've seen with red hair and green eyes, with his slim body and his fantastic sense of style he makes it work. 

It's a running bet around the office whether he's gay or just metro. 

"Kill any more vampires lately?" He quips, moving around you to get to the desk. 

You clench your jaw, you and Jamison don't have much of a friendship. He loves vampires and you kill them, it's a point of contention between the two of you. 

"I execute criminals with the full blessing of the law. Are your precious vampires exempt from the law when they slaughter a whole family just for fun?" 

He glares at you, his jaw clenched tight. "Don't kid yourself, you murder people for money. You're an assassin."

You return the glare. "Unless you've got fangs Mister Clarke , you're not qualified to counsel people about joining that cult of death and villainy." You turn your back and walk out of the room, pulling the door shut behind you hard enough plaster falls to the ground. 

Mary looks up from whatever she's doing to give you a wide eyed stare. 

"You ready to go?" 

You frown and turn to the side to see a man sitting in one of the lobby chairs, almost lost in the little jungle of plants. Thick brown hair pulled back from his nice face, dark sunglasses hide his eyes, he's got on a blue denim jacket with the collar popped up and a blood red tank top stretches across his chest. 

Scar Boy. 

He stands up and walks towards you, you see a bandage on the side of his neck, hidden by the jacket collar. "We need to talk," he says, taking his glasses off. 

Your eyes drift to Mary and she wiggles her eyebrows at you. Your preference for all sexes well known and accepted by the older woman and the majority of the office. 

"I'll see you later Mary. You have a good day now." You move past Phillip, smile at Mary and walk out of the office, coming to a stop in front of the elevator, a second later Scar Boy is beside you, hands in his pockets. 

"Real nice place." He says conversationally. 

"What are you doing here?" You ask when the elevator doors open, you step in and he follows, moving to lean against the back wall. 

"Claude didn't come back last night. Do you know why?"

"I didn't kill her, though it's still on the table." You say, anger still burning inside you from last night and this morning. 

"Is Claude all right?"

The elevator stops and you step through, you shift your load of files under your arm as you walk out of the building. 

"Are you just going to ignore me?" Phillip asks as you get closer to your car with you staying quiet. 

You turn around and scan your eyes over him, your cock starting to wake up in your pants at the sight of him but you ignore it before locking eyes with him. 

_ He might come in handy.  _

"Are you actually curious about your boss's whereabouts or are you here to spy?" 

His eyes rove down your body, taking in your high cheek bones, your chiseled jaw, his eyes move down over your chest and abs, both on display because you changed out of your polo shirt and into a tight white t-shirt. Finally his eyes come to rest on your hips and the tight area of your crotch. 

"Claude has been good to me." Is his only reply. 

You click your tongue and keep moving on until you get to your car, you unlock it and store the folders in your backpack before you look at Phillip and nod him towards the passenger side door. "Get in, I haven't had lunch yet and I'm starving."

"You'll tell me about Claude?"

"Sure kid." You say and climb in, starting the engine just as he slides into the seat.

"I'm pretty sure I'm older than you."

"Probably. You got a preference?" 

"I swing both ways."

You turn your head towards him and see the devilish grin he's sending you, leaning back into the leather seats. 

"I meant lunch."

"I know. You can pick, I'm not picky."

You narrow your eyes at him and nod, pulling out of the parking lot.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Anita is Butch Bitch Vibes and Phillip is extra Fuckboi

"Don't you melt wearing that jacket?" You ask, when you pull up to a red light, sixth in line, you lean back in your seat and drum your fingers against the wheel. 

You see Phillip turn towards you in your peripheral. "I could ask the same."

You shrug your shoulders. "It's lightweight, breathy and hides the shoulder rig."

"You're armed?" 

"There's a vampire that wants to kill me, not to mention whatever is killing master vampires in this city, which I now have to hunt. If I wasn't armed I'd be worried. But you didn't answer my question."

The light turns green and the cars start moving, you gently put on speed, feeling your stomach grumbling in quiet, urging you to hurry. 

"Most people object to the scars." He finally says, looking out the window and away from you. After a minute he asks, "is the scar on your arm the only one?" 

Your jaw tightens and your hands grip the steering wheel so tightly a loud groan comes from the handle. Phillip's eyes snap over to you and you ease your grip, glad you didn't break the thing. 

"No." You don't offer to show him the others and curse Claude for showing it off last night. 

You see his hands clench in his lap, his neck jerking like he's just been shocked, you see him tremor, from his arms into his shoulders and along his spine. He rotates his neck and slips his glasses back on. 

His jacket comes off. "So, where to?" 

"I usually get lunch at Mabel's." 

"You're taking me to your usual spot? Where people see you and know you?" His voice is laced with surprise and his eyes are focused on you. 

Mabel's is a cafeteria, but the food is wonderful and reasonably priced. On weekdays the place is filled to the brim with suits and business skirts. On Saturdays it's nearly deserted.

"Hmm mm." You say just as you pull into the strip mall where Mabel sits, you get a spot just in front of the place and switch off the car before climbing out, snagging your backpack on the way and slinging it across your shoulder. 

Phillip looks like an uncertain little boy as he moves along side you, but he tries to cover it with a smile, oozing sex. 

Beatrice smiles at you from behind the steaming food. She's tall and plump with brown hair and a happy face. Her pink uniform doesn't fit well at the shoulders, and the hairnet makes her face look too long. But she always smiles, and you always talk.

"Hi, Beatrice." And without waiting to be asked, "This is Phillip."

"Hi, Phillip," she says.

He gives her a dazzling smile. She flushes, averts her eyes, and giggles. You didn't know Beatrice could do that and you wonder if she sees the scars, if they matter to her. 

You order meat loaf, a piece of lasagne, cheese croquettes and a bowl of bratkartoffeln, it's something your father would make on Saturdays and it's on of the reasons you're dedicated to Mabel's. 

She makes the best. 

When you feel the urge to pick a dessert you don't think much of it, you've got a moderate sweet tooth, but when you're drawn to the blackberry pie you know you're being influenced. 

_ Fuck you Claude, I hate blackberry.  _

"Can I get some of that peach cobbler Beatrice, thanks." 

The wave of disappointment you feel brings a little smile to your face. 

"You eating for two honey?" Beatrice asks, a little arch in her brow as she fills your order and Phillip's order of the pasta and meatballs. 

"I had a long night and skipped dinner." You explain, smiling. You pay the total for the both of you and find a table. 

"What has happened to Claude?" Scar Boy asks as soon as you sit.

"One more minute." You say grace over your food and when you look up you see him staring at you. You shrug at him and start eating, telling him about Claude and Nikolaos and the punishment. 

He stops eating, eyes looking over your shoulder at nothing, his face a little pale. 

"Phillip?" 

He shakes his head and looks back at you. "She could kill her."

"I got the impression she was just going to punish Claude. Do you know what that would be?"

He nods, voice soft, saying, "She traps them in coffins and uses crosses to hold them inside. Aubrey disappeared for three months. When I saw him again, he was like he is now. Crazy."

_ Will Claude go crazy? Will that effect me?  _ You almost want to get her that slice of blackberry pie out of pity, but it's a slippery slope down the rabbit hole and you can't afford to make a mistake, especially with her. 

"What are you going to do?" he asks.

You open your backpack and pull out one of the folders. The first victim, Maurice no last name, lived with a woman named Rebecca Miles, they cohabited for the last five years. You pull the cobble towards you, with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, and take a bite of it as you skim through the file. "I'll talk to friends and lovers of the dead vampires."

"I might know the names."

Your eyes drift up to him, you were hoping he'd offer to help, which is why you invited him instead of telling him to fuck off. You already talked to miss Miles in the company of the police, she told you zip, and it'll be the same with the rest of the vampire groupies. 

But if you use Phillip, he's one of a kind with them and they'll be more at ease with him there or with him asking your questions. You want to finish this thing as fast as possible so you can't waste time trying to cojile people into doing what you want. 

_ If he screws me over I can always kill him.  _

"Rebecca Miles." 

"I know her. She was Maurice's property." He shrugs an apology at the word, but he lets it stand. You know what he means by it. "Where do we go first?" 

Normally you wouldn't allow a civilian along while you work, but since the vampires brought your people into this, you'll bring theirs. 

"Just don't flash your smile all the time. I don't need you molested by nuns." You quip, licking the last of the ice cream and cobbler from your spoon, feeling full and satisfied. 

"And if someone tries to molest you?" His eyebrows are up, eyes sparkling in mirth. 

You smile at him and pull your jacket apart enough where he can see the guns and the neat row of knives on either side of you. His eyes go wide and his face pales. 

"All silver and all either cursed or blessed for maximum damage, from the silver plated bullets to my little throwing daggers." Not to mention your new physical upgrades. 

You could probably lift up a car with your enhanced strength, putting you on a somewhat equal level as a vampire. 

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "You really  _ are  _ the Executioner aren't you?" He asks in a soft whisper. 

You let your jacket fall around your torso again and pack the folder back in your bag. "It's a title I  _ earned  _ because I'm good at my job, if you want me to feel sorry or bad for the vampires I had to kill to get it, tough luck. They were murderers, every one of them and the courts take too damn long to see that and issue the kill warrant."

"You don't understand them." But there's no heat in his voice, no actual conviction. 

You get up, sling your bag over your shoulder and since he's still sitting you step closer and press your hand down on the bandaged side of his neck. He hisses softly in pain at the pressure and his eyes snap up to meet yours. " _ No. You _ don't understand them. You live in a fantasy world Phillip, but every night when you perform and you let vampires take a bite out of you, without putting you under, a part of you sees the truth." You pull your hand away, leave a fat tip and walk out. 

A minute later Phillip is climbing into the car, not looking at you.

***

Rebecca Miles lives in South City's Dogtown where the streets are all named for states. The building was blind, most of the windows boarded up, the grass as tall as elephant's eye but not half so beautiful. 

A block over are a bunch of expensive rehabs full up hipsters, stepford wives and politicians. 

Her apartment is on a long, narrow corridor, there's no air conditioning in the hallway and you're starting to feel the heat, sweat beading at the back of your neck. One dim light bulb gleams over the threadbare carpeting and the off-green walls are patched with white plaster. 

But at least it's clean, still smelling of pine-scented Lysol. 

Like you discussed in the car Phillip knocks on the door, the idea is he'll calm any misgivings she might have about The Executioner coming into her home. It takes fifteen minutes of knocking and waiting before you hear someone moving around behind the door. 

A second later the door opens as far as the chain will stretch and a woman's voice, still thick with sleep questions. "Phillip, what are you doing here?"

"Can I come in for a few minutes?" he asks, you can't see his face but you can bet he's flashing her one of his smiles. 

"Sure, sorry, you woke me up." The door closes, the chain rattles and the door reopens, wide. You're standing behind Phillip, who's a little more broad than your own slender build so you're basically hidden behind him. 

Phillip walks in and you follow before the door can close, inside the apartment it's like an oven, the heat sweltering. The darkness only makes the space claustrophobic. 

Rebecca stands holding the door, she's thin with lifeless dark hair falling to her shoulders, high cheek bones. She's dwarfed by the white robe she's wearing, looking small and delicate. Her eyes blink at you. 

You're not surprised she doesn't recognize you immediately, it's dark in the apartment and she only saw you once. 

"Did you bring a friend?" she asks, shutting the door and taking away the little light that was flowing in, leaving you in near darkness.

"Yes," Phillip says "This is Anita Blake . . ."

Her voice comes out small and choked. "The Executioner?"

"Yes, but. . ."

She opens her small mouth and shrieks, throwing herself at you, hands clawing and slapping. You barely feel any of the hits and you know she's hurting herself more than she's hurting you so you fist the front of her robe tightly and lift her off her feet a few inches. 

"You can't kill him! You can't! Please, please don't!" She takes in gasping breaths, hands scratching at yours, her legs swinging in the air trying to kick at your legs. You shake her once, roughly and she stops. 

"Are you done?" 

A smooth hand wraps around your wrist and Phillip glares at at you. "Put her down…gently."

You gently lower her back down until her feet touch the ground before you let her go, you even make big show of stowing your hands in your jacket pockets. 

Rebecca moves away from you and huddles against the door, thin, pale hands locked around her knees. She sobs, gasping for air. "You . . . can't . . . kill him. Please!" She starts to rock back and forth, hugging herself tight as if she might shatter, like weak glass.

"Talk to her, before she goes into a full blown panic attack." You tell Phillip. 

He kneels beside her, keeping his hands by her side as he whispers too quietly to hear what he's saying. While he talks you move into the bedroom where you see a coffin sitting beside the bed. 

It doesn't surprise you that she already found another vampire to  _ cohabitate  _ with. She strikes you as the type of woman that needs to be cared for. 

The bathroom is small and cluttered, you hit the light switch, blinking in the harsh yellow light. Her makeup is scattered around the cracked sink and the tub is nearly rotted with rust. You get what seems like a clean washrag and open the tap, the pipes shudder, clank and whine, pouring out water the color of weak coffee. 

You let it keep running until finally the water runs clear though you doubt it's 100% clean, you wet the washrag and wring it out before you walk back out. 

Phillip has Rebecca on the couch, leaning against him bonelessly, she's stopped crying but when she sees you she flinches. You're almost tempted to ask her why,  _ is it my piercings? The two carved barbells I have in my right eyebrow? The carved barbell I've got in the bridge of my nose? The straight barbell I've got in my nasallang and the captive bead ring in my septum, or is it the labaret with the snake bites?  _

_ Or maybe it's because I kill vampires and she shacks up with them.  _

You throw Phillip the rag. "Wipe her face and put it against the back of her neck. It'll help." 

He does as you say and she sits there with a damp rag against her neck, staring up at you, her eyes wide. She shivers. 

You're tempted to turn the light on, but considering the state of the bathroom you doubt the rest of this place will be much better. You scan the near darkness for another chair, it's lopsided and stuffing is bulging out one side, you grimace and decide to stand. 

Phillip looks up at you, his sunglasses hooked over the front of his tank top, his eyes wide and careful and one tanned arm wrapped around Rebecca's shoulders protectively. 

"I told her why we are here. I told her you wouldn't hurt Jack."

You smile,  _ Jack in the box _ , ha. 

His stare holds a reprimand, your smile fades away. 

"Go on, Rebecca. She's trying to help us," Phillip says.

"Why?" she asks softly.

"The master of the city threatened my friends." You say, deciding to be honest. You wouldn't be helping the vampires if it weren't for that fact. 

She stares at you, studying your face and committing it to memory. "You don't have a choice?" 

"Not if I want to keep the people I love safe. So I'm going to do this job, and because I'm a perfectionist, I'm going to do it well."

"You're not here to kill Jack?" She asks for reassurance. 

_ Unless he goes on a massacre.  _ Is what you're tempted to say, instead you smile benignly. "No, I am not."

She starts talking, her small, soft voice telling you the same story she told the police. You clench your jaw and look at Phillip instead of glaring at Rebecca for wasting time. 

"Rebecca, I am trying to catch the person, or thing, that killed your boyfriend. Please help me." You say, speaking softly and kindly. 

Phillip hugs her. "Tell her what you told me."

She glances at him then back at you, sucking her lower lip in and scrapping it with her upper teeth, thoughtful. "We were at a freak party that night."

A freak is someone who likes vampires, so a freak party is exactly what it sounds like. 

Phillip must see something on your face because he admits, "I go to them a lot. You can have a vampire most any way you want it. And they can have you." 

He's trying to see if you'll judge him, so you keep your face blank, just nodding your head in understanding. 

"Did anything special happen at the party?" You ask after a few seconds.

She blinks as if she doesn't understand so you rephrase. "Did anything out of the ordinary happen at the freak party?" 

She stares down into her lap and shakes her head, her hair falling around her face like a thin curtain. 

"Did Maurice have any enemies that you know of?"

Rebecca shakes her head without looking up, you catch sight of her eyes through her hair, wide and frightened. You stifle a sigh, you can't push her any further for information she might or might not have because you might end up breaking her, and not even you're that cruel. 

"Thank you Rebecca. That's all I need."

She nods her head, her trembling hands calming a bit. Phillip helps her up, looking at you gratefully and leads her into the bedroom. You give them privacy and walk out of the hot apartment into the slightly cooler hallway, flapping your jacket to cool yourself down. 

There's sweat all down your spine,  _ gross _ . 

A few minutes later Phillip walks out, shades on, face unreadable. You can feel his hostility, whether at you, himself or fate you don't know. 

"That could have been me," he says after a full minute.

"I don't know what you want me to say here Phillip. You're an adult, it's your choice."

His hands clench and his jaw tightens, the muscles of his throat flexing. "Right. I know at least two other murdered vampires were regulars on the party circuit."

You click your tongue, considering your options as you lead the way back outside. "Think you can find out if the rest were aficionados?" 

"I can find out." His face is blank, his voice dull, something turned his switch off. 

As you get outside you step in his way and back him up until his back is pressed to the door of the building. "Working with you makes this job easier and quicker. But make no mistake Scar Boy." You reach up and pull his glasses off. "If you double cross me, you will  _ wish _ all I want is your blood...got it?" 

His throat bobs and you can see his eyes are wide, dark, his pupils blown. His tongue, pink and thick slides out and licks his lips nervously. "I got it." He whispers softly, his chest rising and falling with his quick little inhales. 

You pull back, your own cock getting hard and step away from him. "Good."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Anita gets some information.

In the car you take off your jacket and turn the air up to full blast, sweat chills on your skin and a shiver travels up your spine. 

Phillip sits as far away as he can get, his back to you slightly and his hands cupped over his pants. You're glad you're not the only one physically effected. 

"I need to know about the freak parties." You say once you're cool enough, turning the air down to a medium setting. When Phillip doesn't answer, you ask him again. "Phillip?" 

"Drop me at the club." He says instead.

You almost sigh, almost,  _ boys and their egos.  _ "What about your car? Don't we need to go back to my office?" 

"I don't drive," he says. "Monica dropped me off at your office."

You hum at that, clenching your fingers in your lap instead of breaking the steering wheel. Phillip turns to you, hidden eyes probably looking at you. "She's afraid of you, your friend too. She got fired and Catherine had her blacklisted. She can't get work as a lawyer now."

You smile, Catherine can be very dangerous when she's pissed off. "If you want me to feel sorry for her, I honestly can't."

"All she did was bring you to the club. It was Claude who chose you to be our champion. Why does she need to suffer?" 

You shrug your shoulders, you don't really have a good answer for him. 

"Why?" He asks again, his voice tired and sad. 

"Vampires look after themselves, them first, everyone and thing second. Monica betrayed a friend for a bunch of vampires." 

"Humans betray humans all the time, for money, for sex, for power. What makes this different?" 

"The difference is Catherine is my friend, and not so long ago she was my girlfriend. The difference is Catherine has abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with vampires. The difference is if Monica had said no, Catherine wouldn't have been in danger." You growl. 

You pull out of the parking spot and start in the direction of Guilty Pleasures, 

Phillip, sensing you're done with the conversation stays quiet. After a few minutes you turn the radio on to your favorite station and let the music sooth the anger that the conversation lit up. 

As you get closer to the Riverfront turnoff you turn the volume down to a quiet whisper and repeat the question from earlier. "Tell me about the freak parties."

"Did you really threaten to kill Monica?" 

You sigh, hands clenching around the wheel, for some reason he doesn't want to tell you about the parties. Is he afraid? Ashamed? "Yes. Tell me about the parties Phillip." 

"They'll just turn her, you know."

"That's a big if, and if they _do_ decide to turn her, they'll have a hard time doing it when she has no fucking heart. I kill vampires Phillip, you think I don't know how to stop a human from becoming one?" 

"Would you really do it? Cut out her heart?" 

You take a quick look at him as you turn the car onto the narrow brick road of the Riverfront, two more blocks and he's home. 

"For what she did to Catherine? I'd cut it out and eat it. Are you still going to the parties or have you stopped Phillip?" 

You keep your eyes on the road, but you can hear his sharp intake of breath. 

Just when you think he'll ignore your question he answers, "I've stopped going the last few months. I got tired of being passed around. I didn't want to end up like Rebecca, or worse."

You can take a guess for what worse is. 

You pull up to Guilty Pleasures, the neon sign dark. "Keep your ears open for a new party and call me when you find one."

He turns to look at you, teeth worrying his bottom lip. "You don't want to go to a freak party."

You scoff, shaking your head. "I don't have a choice Phillip, those were taken from me last night. The only thing I can do is solve this case and to do that I need to go to one of those parties because they could hold or lead me to more clues."

He shivers, fingers digging into his pants, his arms trembling. "There's one tonight. I'll take you. When I find out the location, how do I get in touch with you?" 

You pull your wallet out and pull out one of the stock cards with your name, number, email and work address, you hold it out to Phillip.

He tucks the card into his front pocket and gets his jacket from the back seat before he opens the car door, heat flooding into the air-conditioned car. 

He turns back to look at you before closing the door. "Would you really cut out and eat her heart just so she couldn't come back as a vampire? 

"Yup."

"Remind me not to piss you off." He says after a big exhale of air. "You'll need to wear a something that shows off your scars. You probably have something, right?" 

"Maybe." You quip. 

He hesitates. "Are you as good at being a friend as you are an enemy?"

"I went to head with a vampire with nothing but a silver knife because he enthralled my friend. What do you think?" 

He closes the door and you watch him walk up the stairs through the tinted windows, he knocks and a few minutes later the door is pulled open, you get a glimpse of a pale figure before Phillip walks in and the door closes again. 

As you drive away from the club, making a promise to yourself never go there again, for business or pleasure, you consider whether or not you can trust Phillip. 

He's a stripper at a vampire club and a vampire junkie, not exactly a stellar character reference. Claude could be using him to lure you to something again but you've got nothing else to offer that vampire. 

You need more information about him and there's only one place in the District where not only are you welcome, but you actually enjoy the company there. 

Ten minutes later you're pulling up to Dead Dave's, a nice bar that serves a mean hamburger, excellent fries and a not so bad nacho plate. The proprietor was once a cop who was kicked off the force for being dead. 

Dave likes to help out whenever he can, but he resents the prejudice of his former comrades and so he talks to you, and you talk to the police. 

It's a nice little arrangement that lets Dave be pissed of at the boys in blue while still helping them out. 

It also makes you invaluable to the police, and you get a decent retainer from them. 

In daytime Dave is tucked away in his coffin, but his daytime manager and bartender Luther is on duty. Luther is one of the few people in the District that doesn't have much to do with vampires, except for the fact that he works for one. 

It's a nice little irony that brings endless chuckles. 

You get a parking spot close to Dave's, parking being a lot more open in the District in the daytime. When the Riverfront used to be human-owned businesses there was never any parking on the weekend, day or night. 

It's one of the few positives of the new vampire laws. That and the tourism.

St. Louis was a real hot spot for vampire watchers now, the only place better being New York, but St. Louis has a lower crime rate. 

There was a gang in New York that went all vampire, they spread to Los Angeles and tried to spread here. The police found the first recruits chopped into bite-sized pieces. 

No one complained. 

Dead Dave has dark glass windows and glowing beer signs, at night the front windows looks like a modern art installation made up of brand names. In the daylight everything is muted. Inside the bar the air conditioning is on full blast, it almost feels like a freezer inside making you glad you put your jacket back on. 

After a minute your eyes adjust to the dim light and you walk deeper into the bar, the air smells of stale cigarettes, frying beef and potatoes. 

You see two guys in business suits eating lunch at a booth farthest from the door. From the manilla folders spread out all across the table top you know they're working. 

You wish that was you. No one is threatening to rip out their throats if they don't meet that deadline. 

There's a man crouched on a bar stool, nursing a tall drink, his face already slack, his movements slow and precise like he's afraid he'd spill something. 

Luther is polishing glasses with a clean white towel, he looks up when you slip onto a bar stool, he nods, a cigarette dangling from his thick lips. Luther is, to be kind, big boned, he's got huge-hands and his skin is a purplish black. His brown eyes are yellow-edged from too much cigarette smoke. 

Luther is overweight, chain-smokes and the grey in his hair marks him as over fifty, but in all the time you've known him he's never once been sick. 

"What'll it be, Anita?" His voice matches his body, deep and gravelly.

"The usual."

He pours you a frothy, cool glass of the house beer, a stout Irish lager. You don't drink often, and when you do it's usually a glass of wine with dinner or a beer here when you want to pump Dave or Luther for information. 

You take a sip with a sigh as the cool brew slides down your throat, you lick foam from your top lip when Luther wiggles his lip at you. "I need some info." 

"Figured that. Whatcha need?"

"Man named Phillip, strips at Guilty Pleasure, I need his four-one-one."

He smiles at your use of words. "Vamp?" 

"Junkie."

He takes a big drag from his cig and blows it away from you. "Whatcha want to know about him?"

"Is he trustworthy?"

He stares at you for a heartbeat, then he grins. "Trustworthy? Hell, Anita, he's a junkie. Don't matter what he's strung out on, drugs, liquor, sex, vampires, no diff. No junkie is trustworthy, you know that."

"I do. But I don't have much choice in the matter...I got roped into a case, I can't get out of it, and he'll make the work time easier and shorter. I want this over quickly." 

His eyes search your face. "Damn, girl, you are moving in the wrong circles."

With Luther all women were "girl," all men "fella." 

You take another sip. "I know it. You heard anything bad about him?" 

In true chain-smoker fashion Luther takes out a fresh cigarette, takes a last drag from the nearly burned cig then clasps the fresh one between his lips and lights it with the old one. "I know they got a dancer down at the club that is a freak. He does the party circuit and is  _ real _ popular with a certain sort of vamp." Luther shrugs, a massive movement. "Don't have no dirt on him, 'cept he's a junkie, and he does the circuit. Shit, Anita, that's bad enough. Sounds like someone to stay away from."

"You haven't heard anything else about him?"

He thinks for a moment, sucking on his new cigarette. "No, not a word. He ain't a big player in the district. He's a professional victim. Most of the talk is about the predators down here, not the sheep." He frowns. "Just a minute. I got something, an idea." He thinks very carefully for a few minutes, then smiles broadly. "Yeah, got some news on a predator. Vamp calls himself Valentine, wears a mask. He been bragging that he did ol' Phillip the first time."

"So," You say.

"Not the first time he was a junkie, girl, the first time period. Valentine claims he jumped the boy when he was small, did him good. Claims ol' Phillip liked it so much that's why he's a junkie."

"Shit." You say, you had nightmares for weeks after your encounter with Valentine, but what would it have been like if you'd been a child? 

"You know Valentine?" Luther asks.

You drain the beer glass in one go and nod. "Yeah. He ever say how old Phillip was when the attack took place?"

He shakes his head. "No, but word is anything over twelve is too old for Valentine, 'less it's revenge. He's a real big one for revenge. Word is if the master didn't keep him in line, he'd be damn dangerous."

"You bet your sweet ass he's dangerous."

"You know him." It isn't a question.

You look at Luther and smile sweetly and you can tell from the deep pull he takes from the cigarette something in your eyes surprised him. "He wears a golden mask because I doused him in Holy Water three years ago. I thought he was dead until last night, he wants to kill me so I need his daytime resting place."

"You awful hard to kill, Anita."

"Even more so now Luther. But I don't feel like having my head in a guilotine for the rest of my life." 

"I hear that." He pours you another glass of beer. "I don't know. Word gets out we giving you daytime resting places, it could go bad for us. They could burn this place to the ground with us inside."

You stay silent, taking small sips as you wait things out. 

"You got a warrant to kill him?" he asks. 

"Not active, but I could get one."

"Would you wait for it?"

"It's illegal to kill a vampire without a court order of execution," You quip.

He stares at you. "That ain't the question. Would you jump the gun to make sure of the kill?"

"I've never jumped the gun." Or,  _ no one can  _ prove _ I've jumped the gun before.  _

He shakes his head. "You gonna be up on charges one of these days, girl. Murder is a serious rap."

"Innocent until proven guilty. I've got three great lawyers and a stellar reputation."

Luther inhales smoke and puffs it out through his nose. "I'll have to ask Dave. If he says it's okay, you can have it."

You finish your drink and put a hundred on the bar top. Dave will never admit he helps you because of your ties to the police so money has to exchange hands, even if it's never what the information is worth. "Thanks, Luther."

"Word on the street is that you met the master last night. That true?"

"You know about that before or after the fact?"

He looks pained. "Anita, we woulda told you if we'd known, gratis."

"It's fine. Can't be helped."

He nods. "You and yours going to be okay?" 

"We'll see."

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you pull it out. "Later Luther. Hey Ron-Ron." You say as you walk out of the arctic bar into the sweltering mid-day heat. 

" _ Stop calling me that, Potter _ ."

You grin and start towards your car. "What's up?" 

" _There is a rumor going around Humans Against Vampires. A death squad designed to wipe the vampires off the face of the earth._ "

"You have proof, a witness?"

" _Not yet_."

"I can't take a rumor about HAV over to she-who-must-not-be-named. I don't need _possibly_ guilty dead assholes weighing on me."

" _All right, all right_ ," Ronnie says. " _I'll have something more concrete by tomorrow, I promise. Bribe or threat, I'll get the information._ "

"Thanks, Ronnie."

" _What are friends for? Besides, Bethany's going to have to pay for overtime and bribes. I always love the look of pain when she has to part with money_."

"Me, too."

" _What are you doing tonight_?"

"Going to a party."

" _What_?"

You get to your car, unlock, climb in and explain. After a long silence she answers. " _Wear that black singlet with the_ _ Butch Boss _ _printed across the front. Oh, and your leather pants, and those black riding boots with the clips on the side._ "

"Thanks for the advice Ron-Ron."

" _You're welcome_ ,  Potter ." She tries to say it with the infamous Snape sneer. " _Are you going with backup?_ " Her voice is softer now, worried. 

"You're alone." You say. 

" _But I'm not surrounded by vampires and freakazoids_."

"If you're at HAV headquarters, that last is debatable."

" _Don't be cute. You know what I mean_."

"Yes, Ronnie, I know what you mean. You are the only friend I have who can handle herself. Anybody else would be like Catherine, sheep among wolves, and you know it."

" _What about another animator_?"

"Who? Jamison thinks vampires are nifty. Bethany talks a good game, but she doesn't actually have the power. Charles is a good enough corpse-raiser, but he's squeamish, and he's got a four-year-old kid. Manny doesn't hunt vampires anymore. He spent four months in the hospital being put back together after his last hunt." You sigh and lean back in your seat. "I've got it handled baby, I did the  _ thing _ ."

" _The_ thing ?" 

"Yup." 

" _And_?" 

"Come over sometime." You say. 

Ronnie snorts on her end. " _I'll call when I have something concrete. Bye_." 

"Bye." You put your phone away and think.  _ So Humans Against Vampires, maybe, have a death squad.  _ It's a rumor that might end up being nothing, but it's more than you have currently so it's worth a look while you wait for Phillip's call.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Phillip falls short and Anita is a Butch Pansexual at a vampire groupie party.

On the way home you pick up takeout from your favorite barbecue place, getting ribs, burnt ends, brisket and plenty of sides. For dessert you pick up some donuts. 

Normally you don't eat quite this much food, and you're actually craving things you hate to eat so you know it's Claude acting up. 

But your control is greater than Claude's influence. 

You put your food on the floor of the passenger side and drive home, breathing in the tangy scent of BBQ sauce. 

Pulling up to your apartment building you see missus Pringle, walking her Pomeranian, Custard, back and forth on the grass in front of the apartment. You climb out of the car, get your backpack and the three bags filled with food. 

Missus Pringle is over sixty, five-ten, and stretched thin with age. Her faded blue eyes are bright and curious behind her silver-rimmed glasses. 

She waves and you wave back, folding up your bags as an excuse as to why you're not going over to talk. You go in, up and when you get to your apartment you walk towards your door from along the wall, as quietly as you can shifting your bags into your right hand so you can grip one gun in the left. 

You check to see if your door is still locked by just tilting your head to the side, it is. You put the bags down quietly and push at the door with your free hand, gun held out in front of you in case it opens, it doesn't. 

You fist your keys to keep them from jingling, and open your door, pushing it open as you press yourself tightly against the wall. You listen through the open door for any sounds at all, but it's quiet. 

You wait for two full minutes before you exhale and pull away from the wall, you keep the gun in your hand and pick up your bags, walking into your apartment and kicking the door shut. 

No one comes out with their guns blazing. 

You set the food down by the door, pull your second gun out, and with both held out in front of you, you sweep your apartment until you're sure you are alone. 

"Jesus." You say, your guns go back into your holsters and your jacket gets thrown over the couch. You get your food and eat one handed as you use your other to search online for a security company that can outfit your apartment. 

You can't keep being this paranoid in your own space, you'll go insane. 

When you're done eating you go into your room and to your walk in closet. The shoes and pants are easy, you can hide two knives each in your boots, and the pants you pick are tight, black chinos that have two black and white checkered patches over the thighs that you can hide even more knives in. 

The shirt is trickier, if you need to put your scars on display that means you won't be able to wear your shoulder rig, not without serious camouflage. Finally you pick a floral, red and black, short-sleeve, fitted Hawaiian shirt, you'll leave the first four buttons open. 

Just enough to show the scar on your collarbone, but no boob business. 

Your phone rings and you pull it from your back pocket, answering distractedly as you consider jewelry. "Anita Blake, Butch Pansexual Extraordinaire." 

A laugh comes from the other end, soft and slightly choking. "Is that how you always answer your phone?" Phillip asks, amused. 

"Just for unknown numbers. And my stepmother. You got a locale?" 

"Yeah…pick me up in front of Guilty Pleasures at six-thirty."

You pull your phone away from your ear to check the time, you've got about two hours left. "Sure, see you."

"Bye." Phillip hangs up and you put your phone on the shelf. 

With your clothes picked, you take a shower, when you're done you moisturize, do your eyebrows, put on some eyeshadow and lip gloss. Your hair, loose, falls to about the top of your ears, your fade is getting a little fuzzy meaning a stop at the stylist is on the schedule. 

You run styling moose through your hair and let it hang around your head, hair done you put on a light spray of Axe and get dressed. 

You look yourself over in the mirror, checking to see that no weapons are showing, all in all you've got sixteen knives tucked away on you, four daggers and eight throwing knives and while it's no gun, all of them have been blessed by a priest and dipped in Holy Water. 

You put in your studs, pull on four power rings, the Rainforest Jasper, the steel ring that generates electricity, a ring made out of solid ruby that generates fire and a ring made out of Peridot that gives you mild telekinesis. 

You put your phone in your pants pocket, and put your cross in your back pocket because you obviously can't wear it if you're going to a freak party. 

Dressed, armed, and as prepared as you'll get, you take a deep inhale, close your eyes, count to fifteen and breath out. 

You lock eyes with your mirror self, grin, and reassure yourself. "You're The Executioner, so what if a slightly prepubesent vampire has you by the balls and a slightly psychotic serial killer can just break into your apartment whenever she wants? This is _your_ life, it's _your_ will that dictates it. In the immortal words of Aja, they ain't shit, and they ain't ever gonna be shit."

You clap your hands to psych yourself up, snag your shoulder holster from the couch and your keys from the kitchen counter as you leave. 

Even though you can't take your guns  _ into  _ the house with you, having your full arsenal in the car will make you feel slightly better about this mess. 

***

You slide into the no-parking zone in front of Guilty Pleasures and see Phillip leaning against the building, arms at his side. He's wearing leather pants and a black fishnet shirt, which shows off scars and tan.

You imagine him at twelve and instantly regret it. 

He pushes away from the wall and walks towards the car. You keep the door locked but slide down the window, you look across at him with a smile. "How much sugar?"

He glares at you and you smile sweetly back at him as you roll the window back up and unlock the door. He slides in, smelling of leather, expensive cologne and just the slightest hint of sweat. 

"You look good." You say as you pull away from the curb

"Take Seventy West." He says instead, eyes turned away and lounging in the seat, one leg bent and pressed against the door, the other spread wide with the knee tucked up on the seat. 

You move onto the highway and speed up. Out of your peripheral you see Phillip begin to slide along the seat towards you, his arm slides across your shoulder and his chest presses against your arm, you can feel his hard nipples even through your shirt. 

You inhale, your cock quivering in your pants, and smell the faint hints of the vanilla and oak of his cologne. "What are you doing?" You ask, keeping your eyes on the road. 

"What's wrong?" He breathes along your neck, one hand sliding up along your thigh slowly, inches from your hardening cock. "This is what you want right?" 

You shiver, gripping the wheel tighter. "Don't." You manage between clenched teeth. 

You feel lips on your neck, smiling, the hand cups your bulge, squeezing you. "Do I turn you on Anita?" He whispers into your skin, making your eyelids flutter. 

You know intellectually fucking Phillip is a bad idea, he's a victim and a vampire freak which makes it worse. When they say jump, he will, when they say  _ betray her,  _ he will, he might feel guilty, but he'd do it. 

You have a thing about sleeping with people you can't trust. Enid being a slight exception. 

But your body is reacting to his closeness, his heat, your cock is hard for  _ him  _ and he damn well knows it. 

When his fingers start to work on your belt you force yourself into action. You take one hand off the wheel and grip his hand, pushing him roughly away from you. 

He knocks back into the door roughly, wincing in pain. You almost apologize but manage to swallow the words. 

"Stay on your side of the car. Touch me again and I'll break your fingers."

"Are you like this with all your lovers or just the vampire junkies?" He asks, sneering at you, a hand reaching back to rub his back. 

"Just the ones likely to betray me."

The sneer drops from his face and his hands fall into his lap. You ride in silence for the next few minutes before he opens his mouth. 

"You can trust me, Anita. I won't betray you. I won't." His voice sounds lost, a little boy with all his illusions stripped away.

You look straight ahead, knowing that it's a lie. As you cross the river a few minutes later you break the silence. "Where are we going, Phillip?"

"What?"

"We're across the river. What is our destination?"

"Take the Zumbehl exit and turn right."

You do as he says, Zumbehl veers to the right and spills you automatically to a turn lane, you pull up just as the light turns red and have to wait, scanning your eyes over the area. There is a small gathering of stores to the left than an apartment building, trees that almost form woods with houses tucked back in them. 

There's a nursing home next than a large cemetery, you think it's ill humor to have the two so close together. 

Zumbehl is lined with other things, a video store, kids clothing boutique, a place that sells stained glass, gas stations, and a huge apartment complex proclaiming, "Sun Valley Lake."

There's actually a lake large enough to sail on if you're very careful.

A few more blocks and you enter suburbia, houses with tiny yards stuffed with huge trees line the road. The speed limit is thirty but the there's a hill that slopes downwards. Keeping the car at the speed limit requires the liberal use of the brakes.

"It's the big house on the left. Just pull into the driveway," Phillip says.

You move onto a gravel drive that winds through the trees to a modern garage that almost matches the house in design. There are only two other cars in the drive and you can't see into the garage to see more. 

The house is built with dark red brick, maybe three stories with lots of windows. The yard is large with tall, ancient trees and the grass is too high, making the place look deserted. 

"Don't leave the main room with anyone but me. If you do, I can't help you," he says, looking out the front window to the house. 

"Help me how?" You're stronger than him, faster, better trained and with more experience.  _ He's a professional victim, what can he possibly do to help me if shit hits the fan?  _

"This is our cover story. You are the reason I have missed so many meetings. I left hints that not only are we lovers, but I've been . . ." He spreads his hands wide, searching for a word. " . . . cultivating you, until I felt you were ready for a party."

"Cultivating me?" You turn the car off and turn your eyes to him in the dark. 

"You are a survivor of a real attack, not a freak, or a junkie, but I've talked you into a party. That's the story."

"Have you ever done this for real?" You try to keep the disgust you're feeling out of your voice.

"You mean given them someone?"

"Yes." 

"You don't think much of me, do you?" 

You don't answer and just take your phone, cross and wallet out of your pockets, stowing them in the glove compartment, your guns are on the back seat, hidden under a jacket. "I'm not a switch and I don't bottom." You finally say. "My favorite position is doggy, I don't like pet names and my safe word is Necromancy." 

He looks at you, eyes anticipatory. "You into BDSM?" 

You hum instead of answering. You open the door and get out, cicadas drone and the heat settles over you. Phillip walks around the car, boots crunching on the gravel, he holds his hand out and you take it. 

The back door is shaded by a white lattice arch, a clematis vine grows thick on one side and flowers as big as your hand spread purple to the tree-filtered sun. A woman stands in the shadow of the door, hidden from neighbors and passing cars. 

She's dressed in sheer black stocking held up by a garter belt, a royal purple lace bra and matching panties, she's got on five inch spikes that make her legs look long and slender. 

Compared to her you're overdressed but you've never really been an exhibitionist. 

As you get close Phillip's hand goes from holding your hand to sliding along your waist, downwards until his hand slides into the back pocket of your chinos, forcing you closer to his body. His other hand slides its fingers along the scars on your arm, digging into the scar tissue. 

His breath catches and his other hand squeezes your ass. 

_ Jesus _ . 

The woman smiles at you, her brown eyes focused on Phillip's hand where it plays with your scar, her tongue darts out to wet her lips and you watch her generous bust quickly rise and fall. 

"Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly." You whisper. 

"What did you say?" Phillip asks.

You shake your head, doubtful that he'd know the poem. Phillip leads you up the steps and you think about the fly's reply.  _ Oh, no, no, to ask me is in vain for whoever goes up your winding stairs can ne'er come down again. _


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita sets boundaries and the freaks get on her nerves.

The woman presses herself against the wall so you can pass and shuts the door behind you. With her at your back you pull Phillip's hand off your scars, tug his other hand out of your pants and lay it across your shoulders. 

He steps closer, getting the idea, and tuck your hands into your pants pockets. You know if you touch him, he'll end up pinned under you. 

You walk down a long narrow hall, the hum of the air conditioning soothing, the square archway in front of you opens into the living room. 

The living room is homey with a couch, love seat, two chairs and plants hanging in front of the bay windows, the afternoon shadows snaking across the carpeting. A man stands in the center, drink in his hand. 

You bite your lip to keep from saying what you're thinking,  _ hello leather daddy.  _

He's dressed in full leather, leather boots, a leather kilt, leather bands crisscrossing his broad and hairy chest. 

The woman comes up from behind you and lays a hand on Phillip's other arm, her dark purple coated nails scratching along his arm, leaving faint reddish tracks behind. 

Phillip shivers against you, the arm around your shoulders gripping you tightly. 

A tall, statuesque black woman rises smoothly from the couch, she's wearing a black bra with her breasts almost spilling out of the cups and a crimson skirt hanging from it, it shifts as she walks, giving glimpses of her dark skin. She's got new, still pinkish scars on one wrist and her neck. 

She screams baby junkie. She stalks over towards you and circles like she's a buyer and you're on sale. Her hand slides down your back over your ass, you let her fondle you for a second before you turn around and arch a brow at her. 

She smiles. "Firm ass, you work out?" 

"Runner."

"My name's Rochelle," she says.

"Anita."

The homemaker steps up next you, her fingers lightly ghosting over your scarred arm. Her eyes take on a dreamy haze. "I'm Madge. That's my husband Harvey," she says, pointing to Leather Daddy, who moves to stand beside Rochelle. "Welcome to our home. Phillip has told us so much about you, Anita."

Harvey tries to come up beside you and slightly behind, you press your back into Phillip's front, you can feel his hard on against your ass but ignore it for the moment and smile at the bear. "Sorry, I'm not into bears."

The smile on his face drops and his eyes flash with disappointment. You're glad he knows what you means and doesn't press. With Harvey out of the way Rochelle and Madge edge in closer, like sharks who smell blood in the water. 

You use to go to kink parties when you were younger, and until you blooded yourself, the more  _ experienced  _ players would aways swim near you, looking for a chance to play with you.

_ The good ol' days.  _

Madge licks her lips, slowly, suggestively, eyes undressing you. Rochelle swishes her skirt, exposing thigh and the fact she's not wearing panties. She's smooth which is a plus. 

The truth is neither of these women actually arouse you, and you're a little doubtful of their STD free status. But you're here to tap info so you have to play along. 

You smile at Rochelle and her eyes widen, taking a step towards you, she reaches out when she's close enough and her hand wraps around the wrist of your left hand, bringing it up so she can better see the scar. 

You shiver when her cool fingers graze your warm skin, she takes it as an invitation and comes closer until she's pressed against you, sandwiching you between her and Phillip's hard on. 

She smiles, her head coming closer and dipping, her eyes focused on your exposed collarbone. "I've been dying to meet you." She whispers softly. The others laugh. 

You pant softly, your cock straining against your pants and you can feel a wet patch growing in your boxer briefs. 

Before Rochelle's lips can make contact with your neck you feel a arm wrap around your middle and you're pulled back a step. 

Phillip says, "Remember what I said."

You try and calm your racing heart, your cock straining against your underwear and pants, leaking pre-cum like a faucet. You pull a little away from Phillip, putting space between you two. 

Rochelle's eyes are locked on your crotch with a hungry look. And Harvey is looking a little envious of your bulge size. 

"Sure, sure," Madge says. "She's yours, all yours, no sharing, no halfsies." She stalks over to Phillip, swaying in her tight lace panties. With the heels on she can almost look him in the eye. "You can keep her safe from us for now, but when the big boys get here, you'll share. They'll make you share."

He stares at her until she looks away. "I brought her here, and I'll take her home," he says.

Madge raises an eyebrow. "You're going to fight them? Phillip, my boy, she must be a sweet piece of tail, but no bedwarmer is worth pissing off the big guys."

You step in front of Phillip and cross your arms over your chest, letting your biceps flex, and look down your nose at her. Even with the high heels you're a few feet taller. 

Her eyes lock on your biceps then drift up to your face, where you've got a roughish smile. "He's  _ my  _ bedwarmer."

You feel Phillip's hand on your shoulder, fingers squeezing gently. "Anita."

Your arms uncross and you tuck your hands into your pockets, bringing Madge's eyes down to your bulging crotch. You smile and pull one hand out of your pocket, snapping your fingers and bringing her gaze back up to your eyes. "And I'm not a piece of tail. And…do you know that when you smile you get deep wrinkles on either side of your face? Showing your age there, Madge."

She draws a deep, gasping breath and takes a step towards you, her hand lifting to slap at you. "You little bitch."

You step forward, press yourself into her body and catch her rising hand, you cup her cheek and smile sweetly. "It's Butch Boss, bitch."

You let Madge go, pushing her back a step and return to Phillip's side, ignoring his little shocked look. Madge glares, Rochelle laughs, her boobs shaking in her bra and Harvey stays straight-faced, but you can see mirth shining in his eyes. 

Like they say,  _ happy wife, happy life.  _

A door opens and closes further into the house and a woman walks into the room. She's at least fifty, a bottle blonde with a plump face that leads down to a plump body. Real stones glitter on her plump little fingers and she's got on a long, black negligee with an open lace robe. The negligee doesn't really flatter her figure much. 

She stares at Phillip, lets out a little squeal and comes running towards him at top speed. You step the hell out of her way and watch as Phillip tries to brace himself before she's flinging her plump body into his arms.

Phillip wavers on his feet and you think he's going to fall backwards any second, but his back straightens and his legs tense, he rights himself.

You're impressed with his strength. 

Harvey says, "This is Crystal."

Crystal kisses Phillip's chest, chubby hands trying to pull his shirt out of his pants to touch his bare skin. She reminds you of a puppy in heat. 

Phillip is trying to discourage her without much success, he looks at you pitifully over her shoulders, eyes begging for help. 

You're almost tempted to leave him at her mercy but you trample down your sadism and step forward, tapping her on the cheek gently with two fingers to get her attention. 

She blinks at you and you wonder if she normally has glasses on. "Crystal. You think you can step off my Bae? I don't really mind sharing, that's after all the point of tonight, but I'm kind of new and I need my date at my side." 

Phillip gives you an incredulous look at your choice of words, you smile innocently back at him. 

Her mouth falls open and her pale eyes bug out. "Date," she squeaks. "No one has dates at a party."

"Like I said, I'm new. I don't know the rules yet. Can I please have my boy back?" You say, smiling as kindly as possible. 

Still, her lower lip trembles and her eyes begin to fill with tears. You smile drops,  _ what the hell is she doing here if she's going to cry over something like this?  _

Madge comes over and puts her arms around Crystal and leads the woman away, making soft soothing sounds as she pats her silk covered arms. Harvey follows without a backward glance. 

"Very cold." Rochelle says and walks over towards the liquor cabinet that's against one wall. 

Phillip sits down on the couch and lets out a deep breath, he clasps his hands in front of him, between his knees. You sit beside him, rubbing your head. 

You're not even here for thirty minutes and you've already got a headache. 

"I don't think I can do this," he whispers.

You watch him, his body trembling, his hands squeezing each other. You touch his hand and he quivers in your grip. "We can go." You say softly, keeping your voice between the two of you. 

You knew this was going to take a toll, you knew he was a junkie, and from his comment earlier today you figured he's been trying to kick the habit. Not successfully, not completely. 

But he's trying, you admire that. 

And here you are pulling him back into the den of sin. You move your other hand behind him, rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

He presses against you, consciously or unconsciously seeking comfort. "We can't. You can't afford to." He says, his hands turning white with his tight grip. 

"I can kidnap and torture them for information. I'm not above it, I just wanted to do this the quick and easy way first. But if it's too hard, we can go."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, his hands coming apart. "It's my choice. You just asked for info, I'm the one that offered to come. It's my choice." he nods his head, repeating it to himself like a mantra before he takes another deep breath and lets it out, shaking his body as he exhales. 

"Who told you to come see me?" You ask, unable to keep it to yourself. Before you saw him as a vampire freak and a stripper, then a victim, now you see him as a lost little misfit boy who's trying to keep his nose slightly clean but can't because he's got bad influences all around him. 

You're empathetic. 

And you like him, find him interesting, and want to have sex with him. 

His eyes widen and his hearts beats so rapidly you can feel it from his back. You don't press him on  _ who _ , it's either Nikolaos or Claude, and both must be scary to him. 

But there's one thing you  _ need  _ to know, one thing you can't put aside for the minute. "I'm not asking who, leave that. But what are the orders? Can you at least tell me that?" 

His throat bobs as he swallows and his eyes drift over your face rapidly, not meeting your eyes. You know he's lying even as he answers. "I'm to keep you safe."

You sigh, disappointed, and slump back into the couch. You sweep your eyes over the room, Harvey, Crystal and Madge are still gone but Rochelle is nursing a crystal glass of brown liquid, giving you a seductive smile when she sees you looking. 

Madge walks into the room, cheerful and seductive, with two people following behind her, two women. One is auburn-haired, slender with heavy make-up and dressed in a long, sheer black dress that shows off her matching red lace underwear and garter. 

The second woman is Enid, at her most seductive with an arm around Madge's waist, dressed in a short red and black plaid skirt, spiked black heels and a leather harness bra that shows off her taut stomach. 

She's a naughty school girl. 

Madge gives a rich throaty laugh when Enid whispers something into her ear. 

Your eyes stay on Enid, your body responding to her outfit, and curse the universe and your fairy godmother. 

Your luck these last few days has really been shit. 

If you were completely self-absorbed you might have considered that she followed you. But when Enid gets into a hunt she goes all out, she focuses on her prey with single-minded intensity and goes where they go. 

You hope she doesn't have a gun on her tucked away some place because the last thing you need is being shot, again. 

Madge leads Enid and the other woman towards the bar, she looks back at you over her shoulder and gives you a delicate little smile. 

You narrow your eyes at her. 

"What's wrong?" Phillip asks. 

Before you can answer the auburn-haired woman comes over with Enid and slides into Phillip's lap, she giggles and wraps her arms around his neck with a little kick of her feet. 

Her hands don't lower and she doesn't try to undress him, color you surprised. 

Enid follows after the woman, her blonde hair loose and wavy around her face, she's got a drink in her hand and a harmless smile on her face. 

_ Harmless my ass.  _

She makes herself comfortable on the arm of the couch behind the woman and rubs one hand along her shoulder. 

"Anita, this is Darlene," Phillip says.

You nod, eyes drifting to Enid's, she shrugs and takes a sip from her glass, eyebrows wiggling at your outfit. 

"This is Kimmie. Isn't she scrumptious?"

You pinch your lips between your teeth, keeping any and all sounds of mirth contained.  _ Kimmie and scrumptious, hah _ . 

Enid leans down to kiss the side of Darlene's neck, winking at you as she does it. Darlene snuggles back against her chest, even managing to wiggle in Phillip's lap at the same time. 

"Let me have a taste." Darlene sucks her lower lip under her teeth and draws it out slowly.

Phillip's breath trembles and he whispers. "Yes."

You watch as Darlene cups his arm in her hand and raises it to her mouth, she bestows a delicate kiss over one of his scars then slides her legs down between his until she's kneeling at his feet, holding his arm reverently. 

Phillip's face goes slack and he stares at her as she brings his arm to her mouth, her small tongue flicks out and licks his arm. Her eyes turn up to Phillip, dark and pupils blown, she likes what she sees because her tongue flicks out again, licking his other scars. 

Jealousy burns through you and you have to turn your eyes away, having the sudden urge to claim Phillip with your cock and teeth. You lean back into the couch, cross your arms over your chest and swing one leg over the other. 

If anyone sees you now they might think you look petulant, but you honestly don't care because you  _ feel  _ a little petulant and you hate it. 

You feel Phillip shudder and shift on your butt to put space between the two of you. You catch his closed eyes and thrown back head in your peripheral. You also see Enid's curious eyes shifting between you and Scar Boy, a smirk growing. 

When you see Phillip jerk your eyes turn to him against your will, you see him gripping Darlene's hands, her hands still under his fishnet shirt, which is hiked up. 

"No, no." His voice is hoarse, deep, his eyes shifty. 

"You want me to stop?" Darlene asks. Her eyes were nearly closed, breath deep, lips full and waiting.

Phillip swallows and blinks rapidly, his hips wiggling on the couch. "If we do this . . . that leaves Anita alone. Fair game. Her first party."

Darlene looks at you, for the first time. "With scars like that?"

"Scars are from a real attack. I talked her into the party." He brings her hands out from under his shirt. "I can't desert her." His are focusing again. "She doesn't know the rules."

Darlene leans her head on his thigh. "Phillip, please, I've missed you."

"You know what they'd do to her."

"Kimmie will keep her safe. She knows the rules."

You eye,  _ Kimmie.  _ "Been to other parties?" 

"Yes." She says, holding your gaze. You have to admit, these parties can be excellent sources of information if you don't mind the junkies and the threat of vampires taking a bite out of you. 

Consent given or not. 

"No," Phillip says, shaking his head. He stands and brings Darlene to her feet, still holding his arms. "No." He says again, more confident this time. He lets her go and holds out his hand to you. 

You take it, you don't want to be alone with these people, and you definitely don't want to be alone with Enid. 

His hand is warm and sweaty, leading you out of the living room, down the hall into a bathroom. He lets go of your hand and locks the door before leaning back against it, sweat beaded on his face, eyes closed. 

You close the lid of the toilet and sit down, scrubbing your own hands across your face.  _ God help me, I brought a recovering addict right into his addiction.  _

Phillip inhales big gulps of air, calming himself. Finally he turns to the sink and runs the water, splashing some over his face again and again until he stands up, water dripping from his face. 

There's water in his hair, his eyelashes, and it's dripping down his neck and chest. You stand up and pull a towel off the rack, holding it out. 

He stares at the mirror, at himself, his eyes unblinking. "I did it." He says to himself, finally taking the towel from you, mopping up his chest and neck. "I did it."He repeats again, eyes surprised. 

"You did it." You say in support. 

"I almost let her."

"But you didn't, Phillip. That's what counts."

He nods rapidly, head bobbing. "I guess so." He still seems out of breath.

"Do you want to leave?" You ask again. 

He looks at you then. "That's the second time you've offered that. Why?" 

You search his face before breathing a sigh. "I used to date this girl, she was a trying recovering addict. I say trying because she never quite managed to kick the bad habits."

"What happened to her?" 

Your hands clench and you squeeze your eyes tightly, keeping the tears away as best you can. "She overdosed." Your voice is thick with tears and you clear your throat. "You're trying, and succeeding, somewhat. I don't want to screw things up for you. I want you to kick the habit and have it stay kicked."

You feel cool hands on your face and open your eyes to see Phillip looking at you, eyes shining. He presses his body against yours and leans in slowly. "I like you." He whispers, tilting his head, his lips brush across your own. 

You close your eyes and grip his shirt, bunching the fishnet in your hands as his lips move against your own, as his tongue slides out to flick over your lower lip. 

You pull away your face, taking a gasping breath, heart hammering in your chest, cock pulsing. "You're shirt is wet." You attempt a half-assed excuse. 

He releases you and you take a step back, putting much needed distance between the two of you. Phillip takes his shirt off in one fluid motion, throwing it aside and stepping towards you again. 

You see a flickering shadow in the window across Phillip's shoulder, and for one brief second, as he's adjusting his position, you see Harvey in the window. 

Phillip takes two more steps and you turn your eyes to him. He stands in front of you, eyes dark, chest bare, cock bulging in leather pants. Your eyes flicker over to the window again and you exhale. 

A step forward has you and Phillip toe to toe, you put your hands on his waist and pull him flush against your body. He sighs softly and his arms come over your shoulder and he tilts his head and presses your lips together. 

Your fingers dig into his skin and you pull him tighter against you as you slide your tongue inside Phillip's mouth, sliding your tongue against his. He moans into your mouth and his hips grind against yours, pulling a groan from you. 

Your hands drop down to his ass and you squeeze the muscular cheeks, he gasps and pulls away from the kiss, his head falling back. Your eyes flick up to see Harvey blatantly watching now and attach your lips to Phillip's neck, kissing, licking and sucking on his skin as you palm his ass firmly. 

"Anita." He moans softly, his hands dropping from your neck so his fingers can start on the buttons of your chinos, pulling all three before opening the fly to expose your boxer briefs with the little hearts on them. 

His hand cups you and you jerk, your fingers digging into his ass, your teeth ripping a hiss from his throat as you bite his collarbone. He jerks and slams your hips together, grinding against you as he palms your cock. "Let me taste you. Please." He whimpers into your ear, his hand sliding into your underwear. 

" _ Shit _ ." You pull yourself away, breathing deep and rapidly to catch your breath. You look back at the window and see Harvey gone. You turn your eyes back to Phillip, his eyes pupils are blown, his lips swollen, his neck is shining with your lip gloss and red from the hickeys you left in your wake. 

"You bit me." He says softly, fingers coming up to caress the bruising mark. His eyes are still slightly unfocused but his breathing is getting even. 

You lick your lips, glad you don't taste blood and rebutton your pants. "Harvey is gone."

He comes closer to you but you put a hand on his chest. You glare at him, still able to taste his skin on your tongue, and growl. " _ Necromancy _ ."

He steps back like he's been slapped and he looks at you, hurt in his eyes. He looks away from you, hands crossing over his chest, defensively. "We need to go out so you can hunt for clues." He says.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita sees Zachary for what he truly is.

Madge stops you in the hall, her eyes searching your exposed collarbone. "You've been seeing Phillip for a month and he still hasn't tasted you?" She says after a minute, her fingers reaching up to caress a set of perfect bite marks scarred onto the exposed upper mound of her breast. 

Your eyes turn to Phillip and he turns away from you. You clench your jaw and turn back to Madge and smile. "I'm the biter, not the bitten." And you turn your eyes to Phillip's neck. 

Madge gives a breathy little gasp when she sees the decently sized bite mark on Phillip's tanned skin. "You sure you've never been to a freak party? You're a natural." She says it begrudgingly, her eyes focused on that mark. She licks her lips and take a step towards Phillip. 

You move in front of him, hiding him behind your body. She pouts at you and it's petulant. 

Just then a man you haven't met falls at your feet, Crystal on top of him, pinning him to the floor. He looks young, and frightened, he looks up at you and you think he might actually ask for help. 

Then Crystal kisses him, sloppy and deep, and his hands reach down to lift her skirt up. 

You groan in disgust and storm for the door, your boots practically stomping on the hardwood floor. 

_ I was wrong, it's not  _ like  _ a kink party, it's  _ worse. 

Phillip catches up with you just as you're pulling the back door open, his hand presses against it to stop you. You push him to the side, and since you don't bother to even try and regulate your strength, he stumbles backwards with a wince, his hand coming up to rub at where you got him. 

"I need air." You step out the door onto the trellis-covered porch, pull the door closed behind you, and take a deep breath of air. It's dark now, the sun set and the cicadas and crickets are loud. 

A wind blows, but it only pulls at the top of the trees, never touching the ground.  _ This was a mistake, these people aren't going to give me anything, it's a waste of my time.  _

You take another deep breath of air and feel the first stirrings of power. It oozes through the trees like the wind, but the touch of it doesn't cool you, it ignites a fire in your stomach that spreads out. 

Spreading power along the way. 

The hair at the back of your neck starts to stand on end and your fingertips feel charged with electricity. Whoever it is, they are powerful. 

And they're trying to raise the dead. 

You follow the power, the earth is soft under your feet from the recent rain and you try harder not to put too much weight into your steps. The acorns littered on the ground sink when you step on them. 

You hear a sharp, high and panicked bleat.  _ Goat,  _ you think,  _ close.  _ Another cry sounds but this one ends in a wet gurgle as the animal's throat is slit. You wince in sympathy, imagining the mess. 

The trees end and the ground is clear and moon-lit, the backyard is huge, empty but for a wall of overgrown hedges that are more like small trees. You start towards the hedge in a walk, then a run, five feet from the hedge you tense your legs and push off. 

Above the hedges you tuck your knees up into your chest, roll, and land with a soft grunt on your knee. 

Like you thought, there's a grave on this side of the hedge. The actual ritual for raising the dead is a short one as for as rituals go, the power pours out into the night and into the grave. 

A man cries out then a woman's voice sounds. "Where is it? Where is the zombie you promised us?"

You move away from the hedges and out from the equally overgrown bushes to see what's happening. 

"It was too old!" You see Zachary quivering on the ground, his voice thin with fear. 

"You said chickens weren't enough, so we got you a goat to kill. But no zombie. I thought you were good at this." There's Theresa, towering over Zachary, her face pinched in gleeful disappointment. 

You walk out of the bushes and closer to the group of vampires, a dozen in all. Their eyes turn towards you now that you're making noise and one of the vampires closest to you is the black one from Nikolaos's lair. 

You scan your eyes for a blonde Lolita, but you don't find her. 

The vampire smiles and says, "Did you come to watch . . . animator?" Was he going to say, "Executioner"? Is it a secret?

"Wanted to see what the commotion is about." You say as you walk closer, able to see the mess killing the goat made of Zachary, his shirt damp with blood, his neck and face splattered. 

That's why you prefer chickens, less messy. 

Theresa turns her eyes from Zachary to you, taking in your outfit with an arch of her brow. You almost want to say, speak for yourself. 

She's dressed all in black, black crop top, black jeans, black boots. The only color is the white of her exposed stomach, which is taut but not muscled. 

Her eyes flick back to Zachary. "Well, Zach-a-ry, where is our zombie?"

"It's too old. There isn't enough left."

"Only a hundred years old, animator. Are you so weak?"

He looks down at the ground, fingers digging into the soft earth, he glances up to you then quickly down again. Is he trying to tell you something? Telling you to run? Or is he asking for help? 

"What good is an animator who can't raise the dead?" Theresa asks, dropping to her knees, suddenly beside him with her hands on his shoulders. Zachary flinches but doesn't try to get away. 

A ripple of almost-movement runs through the other vampires and they tense. They're going to kill him, his failure is just an excuse. 

Theresa rips open his shirt down the back and it flutters around his lower arms, still tucked into his waist. You can see a woven rope band around his right upper arm, beads worked into it. It's a gris-gris, a voodoo charm.

Whatever it's meant to do, it's not going to help him. It's not going to be enough. 

Theresa does a stage whisper. "Maybe you're just fresh meat?"

The vampires begin to move in, silent as the wind in the grass.

You don't like him, wouldn't want to be friends with him. But he's a fellow animator, and that at least warrants your intervention. "Wait." You call. 

No one hears you, focused on Zachary and the thought of fresh blood, if you don't do something now you won't be able to stop them once the frenzy starts. Not without putting your life in mortal danger. 

You put your thumb and forefinger in your mouth and whistle, it's loud and gets their attention, a dozen sets of eyes turn your way. "Doesn't he belong to Nikolaos? Doesn't he call her master?" 

They hesitate and then part for Theresa as she strides through them to get to you. "This is not your business." She stares at you, annoyed. 

"I'm making it my business." 

"Do you wish to join him?"

The vampires start to encircle you, you let them, wishing you stopped to get your guns. "I want to speak with him, one professional to another." 

"Why?" she asks.

You stay a few feet away from her, her anger palpable. You're making her look bad, she knows it, you know it. "Nikolaos might want him dead, but what would she do to you if I die tonight? Does spending eternity locked in a cross-wrapped coffin appeal to you?" 

She snarls at you, her hands clawed. "Damn you, mortal, damn you to hell! Talk to him, for what good it will do you. He must raise this zombie, this zombie, or he is ours. So says Nikolaos."

"If he raises the zombie, then he goes free, unharmed?" You ask.

"Yes, but he cannot do it; he isn't strong enough."

"Which was what Nikolaos was counting on. " You quip.

Theresa smiles, exposing her fangs. "Yesss." She turns her back on you and strides through the other vampires, they part like the red sea for her. 

You look down at Zachary. "Are you hurt?"

He shakes his head. "I appreciate the gesture, but they're going to try to kill me tonight. There isn't anything you can do to stop them." He gives a thin smile. "Even you have your limits."

"We can raise this zombie if you'll trust me." You say, reluctant to offer your help but unable to walk away. 

His face is a mixture of puzzlement and something else. "Why?"

"If I walk away from you now I won't be able to look my friends and coworkers in the eyes ever again. I'll be ashamed. I live my life to the fullest and as truthfully as I can, I don't do ashamed."

"I don't understand you, Anita, I don't understand you at all."

"Story of my life. Can you stand?" 

He nods. "What are you planning?"

"We're going to share our talent."

His eyes widen. "Shit, you can act as a focus?"

"I've done it a few times before." You've done it nine times before, with the man who trained you. Never with a stranger. 

His voice drops to a bare whisper. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Save you?"  _ No, not at all _ .

"Share your power." He explains.

Theresa strides over to you. "Enough of this, animator. He can't do it, so he pays the price. Either leave now, or join us at our . . . feast."

"Are you having rare Who-roast-beast?"

"What are you talking about?"

"It's from Dr. Seuss,  _ How the Grinch Stole Christmas _ . You know the part, 'And they'd Feast! Feast! Feast! Feast! They would feast on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast-beast.' "

She stares at you incredulously. "Are you crazy?"

"Word to the wise, never tell a crazy person they're crazy. It pisses them off." 

"Do you want to die?" she asks.

You look at her and a sureness, an absolute certainty that Theresa is not a danger to you, fills you. And it's not just from the boost your new enhancements give you. 

"Someone may kill me before all this is over, Theresa, but it won't be  _ you _ ."

She growls and turns her back, hands balled into fists. "Raise the dead, animators, or by all the blood ever spilled, I'll kill you both." And she means it. 

You sigh, scrub your hands over your face and turn your eyes to Zachary. "Get up Zachary. It's time to get to work."

He stands up. "I've never worked with a focus before. You'll have to tell me what to do."

"No problem." 

***

The goat is on its side, blood still seeping into the ground from the gapping wound, it's eyes rolled back and glazed, it's tongue lolling out of its mouth. 

The older the zombie, the bigger the death needed, that's why you avoid the older zombies. At a hundred years the corpse is just so much dust; a few bone fragments, if you're lucky. 

If you have the power to do it they reform to rise from the grave. 

It takes a lot of power. 

Most animators can't raise the long-dead, a century and over. You can. 

What you don't get it, Zachary has the same amount of power you do, maybe even a little more. You frown and glance at him, something is not adding up,  _ so why couldn't mister powerful raise this zombie?  _

He comes to stand beside you, the remnants of his shirt cast off, he stands pale and thin beside you, his cheekbones high and almost cavernous. 

The goat is still inside the blood circle he made earlier. "Bring everything we need into the circle."

He brings a long hunting knife and a jar full of pale, faintly luminous ointment. The knife is huge with a jagged edge and a gleaming point. It's clean and sharp. 

"We can't kill the goat twice," he says. "What are we going to use?"

"Us." 

"What are you talking about?"

"We'll cut ourselves, fresh, live blood, as much as we're willing to give."

"The blood loss would leave you too weak to go on."

You shake your head. "We already have a blood circle, Zachary, we're just going to rewalk, not redraw it."

"I don't understand."

You stare at him, frowning at his ignorance. "I don't have time to explain metaphysics to you. Every injury is a small death. We'll give the circle a lesser death, and reactivate it."

He shook his head. "I still don't get it."

Over the years you've learned that some people have an innate sense of how things are, you've always been a prodigy at this. 

And some people need to be led to the answers, by hand, if Zachary doesn't feel this part of the ritual, if he can't understand it without words, than there's no point in explaining. 

You're Snape trying to teach Potions, it just isn't a good match. 

"I'll show you what I mean." You hold your hand out for the knife, he hesitates then hands it to you, hilt first. You flip the knife with expert ease, getting a feel for it, it's top heavy and wouldn't make a very good throwing knife. 

All your knifes are designed to be used in hand to hand combat or to be thrown, with the exception of the machete you've got tucked away in your car. You take a deep breath and press the blade edge against your left arm just below the cross burn. 

A quick stab, no sting, and blood wells up, a second passes, and the wound knits back together.  _ Looks like I'll be cutting deeper now.  _ You press the knife deep into your arm, almost through to the other side and drag the knife down to your wrist, you can feel the tip of the knife dragging against bone but it's not painful. 

You twist the knife to cause as much damage as possible before you pull it out. 

It's actually kind of ticklish. 

Blood seeps from your wound, dripping into the ground. You hand the knife back to Zachary. 

"Jesus." He whispers, looking pale, eyes drifting from your gaping wound to the knife. 

"Move fast, do your right arm so we mirror each other." You say, impatiently. You can feel your tendons healing already. 

He nods, making a quick slash across his right upper arm. He hisses with the sting of the cut. 

"Kneel with me." You kneel down and he follows your lead, mirroring you. You bend your cut arm at the elbow and raise it so the fingertips are head-high, shoulder-high. Zachary copies. "We clasp hands and press the cuts together."

He hesitates, immobile.

"What's the matter?" A little gruff, if he keeps wasting time you'll have to cut yourself again.

He shakes his head, two quick shakes, and his hand wraps around yours. His arm is a little shorter than yours but you manage. 

His skin is uncomfortably cool against your own, you glance over at his blank face, take a deep, cleansing breath and begin. "We give our blood to the earth. Life for death, death for life. Raise the dead to drink our blood. Let us feed them as they obey us."

His eyes widen and you know he understands now. You stand and pull him up and along the circle, you can feel the power, an electric current up your spine. You look straight into his eyes, almost silver in the moonlight, you finish the circle and end back where you started. 

You pull him down to sit in the blood-soaked grass, you dab your right hand in the still oozing blood of the goats wound and smear it over Zachary's face, and leave a dark handprint over his heart. 

You smear blood along the beads of the gris-gris, feeling the soft feathers worked into it. You can feel the band needs blood, but not animal. 

Zachary smears blood on your face using his fingertips only, afraid to touch you, you can even feel his hand shake as he traces your cheek, you shiver when he presses his hand against your breast, the blood cool against your warm skin. 

He unscrews the jar of homemade ointment, a pale off-white paste with greenish flecks of light that you know is graveyard moss. You rub ointment onto the blood smears, his skin soaking it up. 

He brushes paste on your face, you can smell the pine scent of rosemary for memory, cinnamon and cloves for preservation, sage for wisdom and thyme to bind it all together. He used too much cinnamon so it smells kind of like apple pie. 

Together you smear blood and ointment on the tombstone, the name has faded away to soft grooves in the marble, you don't want to trace your fingers over them, you don't want to know her name because you know whatever the vampires have planned it won't be kind and gentle. 

But you need the name for the ritual. 

You steel yourself, take a deep breath and trace your fingers over the groove, _Estelle_ _Hewitt,_ born 18 something, died 1866. You can tell there was more once upon a time aside from her name and dates, but it's gone, beyond reading. 

Normally you don't like raising zombies you know nothing about, it's not a good idea, but in this instance, you'll make an exception. 

Zachary moves to the foot of the grave and you stay by the tombstone, an invisible cord stretching between the two of you, connecting you. You start to chant, no more questions needed. 

"Hear us, Estelle Hewitt. We call you from the grave. By blood, magic, and steel, we call you. Arise, Estelle, come to us, come to us."

His eyes meet yours and you feel a tug on the invisible line that binds you. 

"Estelle, Estelle, come to us. Waken, Estelle, arise and come to us." You call her name again, voice louder in the night. 

As the earth shudders and the goat falls to the side, you look at Zachary with wide eyes, you know where you've seen him now. 

There are so few animators that if anyone dies you go, period. You only got a glimpse at his face, rouged and painted, you remember thinking someone did a bad job of doing him up. 

You clench your jaw and your eyes fall to the gris-gris, the hungry thing that needs more than goat blood.

He's dead, not a zombie but not quite human either. He's something  _ other  _ now. 

Estelle is digging her way out of the ground now, her arms and head out, she sits panting, her legs still in the ground. 

You turn your eyes back to Zachary and you stare at each other over the grave. You get gris-gris for all types of things, you've got one that acts like spermicide that you keep wrapped around your right ankle, feeding its hunger with the blood of your slaughtered chickens. 

Small, harmless deaths that are going to happen anyway. 

But his gris-gris, that need something more, stronger, bigger, more substance. 

Your eye drift back to Estelle. She may have been pretty once but a hundred years in the grave takes a lot out of a person, her skin is an ugly greyish while, waxy and nearly expressionless. White gloves stained with grave dirt hide her hands, and her dress is her wedding finery, white and lace-covered. 

Her black hair is in a bun with wisps of loose hair tracing her nearly skeletal face, her eyes are dark, wild, showing too much white.  _ At least they haven't shriveled up like raisins.  _ You hate that. 

She sits by her grave and tries to gather her thoughts, it takes a while. Even the recently dead take a few minutes to orient themselves. 

You look at Zachary, having your answer for why he couldn't raise Estelle on his own. Fresh corpses he can handle, they need less power. But his body no longer has the power to raise the long dead because he's dead. 

_ There's something seriously wrong with the dead calling the dead from the grave. It's all the more reason to cremate. _

You walk around the grave towards him, your wound is all closed up now, the blood already starting to dry on your skin. You're not feeding his gris-gris. 

When you're close enough, you ask. "Who?" 

He stares at you, getting your meaning. "People who won't be missed."

You clench your jaw, hoping he means drug dealers, rapists and killers. Not innocent people. 

Estelle moves in a rustle of petticoats and hoops, crawling towards you. 

"You can't feed it, can you?" 

Estelle comes to you, her fingers feel like sticks digging at your legs. 

"Of course not, because it's  _ fresh _ ,  _ live _ blood needed to close the ritual." You sneer at him, he played you, you know he played you. 

"Give me the fucking knife before I leave this circle and let you die." He hands it over and you make a shallow cut, and blood wells up and the wound closes in a second but it's enough. 

You kneel down to be eye level with Estelle and hold out your bloody arm, she makes a soft mewling sound low in her throat and her stick hands grip your arm, bringing it closer to her mouth. She latches on like a suckling babe to its mom, it sucks, trying to get more blood, and licks at the blood already coating your arm. 

You pull your arm away from Estelle and she cries, soft like a newborn kitten. Your part of the bargain is done. 

The ritual is finished. 

"Go fuck yourself." You turn around and walk out of the open circle, the vampires moved further into the dark, huddling together. "The zombie is yours."

You turn back for a quick glance at Estelle before steeling yourself and walking away. You're stopped short by Theresa stepping into your way. 

"Why did you let it suck your blood? Zombies don't do that."

You stare down at her, almost tempted to say,  _ Zachary is dead, he's a dead thing that couldn't complete the bargain made. He's a dead thing using voodoo to keep him alive.  _

Instead you just shake your head. "The ritual already went wrong. We couldn't start over without another sacrifice. So I offered myself as the sacrifice."

"Yourself?"

You smile. "Those stories of necromancers using humans as their sacrifice aren't just stories." Though, with a human sacrifice you could raise more than just one zombie, it's a lot of juice. 

You walk around her towards a gate that leads back to Madge's side. You ignore the scream from behind you, ignore the loud little snickers and chuckles. 

You ignore it all.  _ And may God forgive me.  _

You jump over the gate, not even bothering with its rusted hinges. Another scream sounds, panicked, fear-stricken.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita had a confrontation with the one thousand year old jailbait and fun with Phillip. Then Claude pops up.

"Greetings, animator. You seem to be having a full night." A voice sounds further ahead of you, soft and musical. A little girl's voice. 

Nikolaos is standing in the shadows off to the side, Willie McCoy with her, a little to the side and behind. A servant. 

"You seem agitated. What ever is the matter?" She continues in a sing-song voice. 

"Thank you for signing the contract. " You say instead, your fingers playing with the zipper on the side of your left leg. You move it up and down, playing with it, nervously, but opening it more and more. 

In the moonlight you see Nikolaos pout, upset you didn't take her bait. Choosing to save Zachary was a mistake, you know that now,  _ you try to be a decent human being,  _ you won't make the same mistake twice in one night. 

"My pleasure, even though you added things I did not agree to." 

You'll have to check your phone after this to see if she's telling the truth. "After Valentine threatened me, I thought it prudent to secure against future retaliation."

You can see her jaw clench and her hands claw.  _ Oh oh, someone's in trouble _ . 

"Is there something else Nikolaos?" 

She sways back and forth, her hands playing with her dress, swishing it around her legs. "Well, since you asked,  _ Anita _ ." Her tongue caresses your name, overly sexual. "You helped Zachary raise the zombie."

"Yes."

You see her float along the grass towards you, the perfect child bride facade thrown aside for the glare of a vampire that got her toy taken away and is angry. 

"Kill him if you want. I don't care anymore. Can I just go? My sleep schedule's been royally fucked up the last two days and I'm tired."

You hear Willie take in a sharp breath and you can see Nikolaos's eyes widen with shock, surprised. 

"You're no fun animator." She sighs, a little girl again, sweet and unsuspecting. 

"I'm not your plaything."

A scream sounds behind you, loud and full of terror. You clench your hands and look out ahead towards the house. What's Phillip doing? Being bitten by a vampire? Biting one of the junkies? Locked in the bathroom having a panic attack? 

"Are you truly so apathetic to things you consider dead, animator?" 

You turn your eyes back to Nikolaos, see the tiniest of smirks on her face. "If I said I wanted her put back, tonight, now. Would you do it?" 

"You are not in a position to want anything." She replies. 

"In that case, can I go?" 

"You smell of human blood animator. But I don't see no wound."

"It healed."

Her eyes scan over you, moving up from your boots to your hair and down again, stopping at your left arm. "How interesting. I had Willie punished for failing to hire you that first time."

You breathe a sigh, for whatever reason Nikolaos wants to keep you here, she's playing with you. 

"It's genius, leaving them in a cross-wrapped coffin."

She smiles at you. "Phillip told you about our methods, good. Willie was very afraid that I would leave him in there for months, or even years."

"Vampires can't starve to death. I understand the principle." 

"Let me taste you, and I will see your zombie safe." Nikolaos says, drifting to within a few inches. 

"Does taste mean bite?" 

She laughs, soft and sweet. "Yes, human, it means bite." 

You smile back, your hand reaching into the slit you opened earlier, your fingers brush against warm silver. "No thanks."

"But I thought you wanted her put back, tonight, now." She repeats your words with her child voice. 

"I don't want it bad enough to let you taste me."

"Then let me enter your mind. That's a type of feeding."

"No."

"Let me taste your blood, animator. No teeth." She tries again. 

"I don't have any open wounds. And I'm not opening one just for you."

Willie finally speaks up. "Anita. . ." His voice is full of warning. You ignore it. 

"Silence, or risk my anger." Nikolaos voice growls low and dark.

Willie shrinks in on himself, his face a white triangle under his black hair. 

"It's all right, Willie."

Nikolaos steps closer, humming under her breath, she stops an inch away from you and her small hand reaches out, her finger brushing across your crotch. "You could let me taste another part of you." 

You jerk back, mentally cursing as your cock gets hard at her offer. She laughs, sensually, and she steps closer. "What's wrong animator? Am I not  _ young  _ enough?" Her hand comes up again, fingers beckoning. "Let me taste you and I'll call my little vampires off. 

"No." You say, even though you want to say yes. You've been getting blue balls all day and you want to have sex, with anyone at this point. 

But not with Nikolaos, you'd be giving up power you can't afford to lose. 

"Fine. Fuck Willie."

You stare wide eyed at her. " _ What _ ?" You say incredulously. 

"Fuck Willie while I watch and I'll let your zombie go."

"You can't be serious." 

"I thought you swing both ways animator?" She quips back, smirking at you. 

"He's not my type."

She smiles then, wild and triumphant. "Then…how about Phillip? Is he your  _ type _ ?" 

_Guess I have my answer_ _about who's orders he's following_. You're actually disappointed, you hoped Claude was pulling Phillip's strings. 

When you don't say anything Nikolaos continues, a smile on her face. "He arouses you, doesn't he? You want to have him, don't you Anita? You can, I'll give him to you, right now, you can have him right here even. A command from me and he wouldn't even put up a fight, though I doubt there'd even be one." She pauses, eyes drifting down to your bulging crotch. "What do you say?" 

"Leave her alone!" Phillip shouts, half running full tilt down from the house. "You promised me you wouldn't hurt her tonight!"

You look over at Phillip, still shirtless, his neck has a giant purple bite mark on his neck. You almost say yes. 

"If she says yes I won't have to hurt her." Nikolaos says, not even turning around to address Phillip. 

You exhale and rub at your forehead, flakes of blood and paste drifting into the air. "You're creating a hostile environment Nikolaos."

She chuckles. "Human, I've been around for a thousand years and I'll be around for another, what's a few million to me?" 

You stay quiet, weighing your options. In the silence the screams that come from the direction of the house are louder. 

"Perverts!" Is yelled by a man. 

"What is it?" You ask, looking towards the house. 

Nikolaos answes, "The Church of Eternal Life has sent its congregation." She sounds mildly amused. "I must leave this little get-together." And she's gone, running through the trees faster than you can watch. 

"Let's get out of here." You say and walk over to Phillip, pulling him along by his arm. 

"Do they invade the freak parties often?" You ask. 

"Whenever they can," he says.

Your path is blocked by Willie, looking shy. "I know I don't have a right to ask, but can I catch a ride?"

You stare at Willie, long and hard. "Dude. Seriously?" 

He shrugs. 

"Oh, Willie." You sigh. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Screams come from the house. "Somebody's gonna call the cops." Willie says, he's right, and you won't ever be able to explain it if you get busted by the cops in the company of a vampire and a vamp junkie. 

_ Reputation down the toilet.  _

You sweep Phillip off his feet and into your arms, not even grunting when his weight settles. He gasps, his arms going around your neck, you hold him tight against your body and start running. Six seconds and you're putting him down on the ground again. 

"What are  _ you _ ?" 

"What the fuck!" 

You ignore Phillip and Willie both and get your keys out of your back pocket, unlocking the car. You open the back passenger door and shrug your shoulder rig on, securing it by clipping it across your chest. 

Three figures spill out of the house, one has a club and is human, the others are vampires. "Get in the car. Willie, start it up. " You tell the boys and step out in front of the approaching group. 

One of the vampires rush towards you as Willie goes to the driver's side, his arms wide and hissing, maybe he means to scare you, but you've had just about enough of vampire bullshit. A blink of the eye has your gun in your hand, you tap the trigger and a shot rings out, gravel exploding near his feet.

He hesitates, almost stumbles. "Bullets can't hurt me, human."

You see movement in the trees, but you can't tell if it's friend or foe. "My bullets are silver, coated in Holy Water and blessed by a priest. These  _ can  _ kill you, especially when it's a critical hit." You bring the gun up to point at his heart. 

He stops cold and looks at you in horror. "You…you're bluffing." He says, fear in his voice but trying to broadcast bravado. 

The second vampire has started to circle on your right, you pull your second gun, eyes still on the first vampire, and shoot the second one in the foot. 

"Aaahhh!" The second vampire's scream is loud and agonized, he drops to the ground, holding onto his left foot that's smoking and writhes on the ground. 

The first vampire looks scared shitless. 

The car starts and you back up, guns trained on the vampires, the human with the club stands frozen by the front porch, looking terrified and scared for life. 

The passenger door opens up behind you, you side step, holster your weapons and climb into the car in one fluid motion. "Gun it." You say as you slam the door shut. 

The noise jars the human out of his shock but Willie is already stepping on the gas, gravel spits out at the human from under the tires and Willie has the car speeding down the driveway. 

You slump into your seat and automatically clip your seat belt in. "Shit." You breathe. When you're out of the driveway and speeding down the street you tell Willie to slow down. 

Willie eases back on the gas and grins at you. "We made it."

"Yeah." You say, not so sure about that. You get your phone and a pack of wet wipes from the glove compartment. You bring the vanity mirror down and start wiping your face clean, when your face is clean of blood and paste you turn your phone on and swipe down to see your notifications, no new ones. 

You sigh and slump back into the seat again. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder, fingers gently squeezing, you tilt your head and see Phillip. You smile at him, trying to be reassuring because you can see the fear in his eyes. "Everything will be all right, Phillip."

He looks at you, his face older than it is, tired. "You don't believe that any more than I do."

"So, uh, where to?" Willie asks after a few minutes of silence. You blink your eyes, trying to fight back the haze of sleep that settled over you in the few minutes of silence. 

You weren't kidding when you told Nikolaos that your sleep schedule has been fucked. 

"Guilty Pleasures. I drop you off then I go home and get the sleep I've been deprived of for two days now." You turn your head to look out the window again, watching streets flash by. You see Phillip's reflection in the window, his eyes on you, you turn back to him, unable to read his expression. 

"What are you thinking, Phillip?"

His eyes stay locked on you, his tongue peaking out to lick his lips. "That I stood up to the master. I did it. I did it!" His voice is full of pride, satisfaction. 

"You were very brave." 

"I was, wasn't I?"

You smile and nod, seeing that broken little boy you saw in him this morning peaking out. "Yes. 

Then his smile drops and his moves out of sight behind you. "You were right. Someone was giving me orders. Nikolaos wanted me to seduce you, wanted more leverage over you." He whispers, but in the quiet of the car you hear him perfectly. 

You look over to Willie, his eyes are focused on the road ahead, trying to give you and Phillip some privacy. You appreciate the thought. 

"Phillip. . ." You say, reluctant to have this conversation.

"No. I'm sick, it's no wonder you don't want me."

You turn to look around and wait until you catch Phillip's gaze. "I do like you Phillip."

He glances at you then away. "You mean that?"

"Yes."

The rest of the car ride to Guilty Pleasures is a semi-awkward silence. Fifteen minutes of silence ends when Willie pulls up in front of the club, he turns the car off and turns to you. 

"Thanks for the ride Anita." He says before getting out of the car, practically running away to give you and Phillip actual privacy now. 

You catch sight of Phillip in the rear view mirror, looking straight ahead. You tap your fingers against your thigh, feeling the thick padding that keeps the knives hidden. "I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if Nikolaos will let me go or kill me even if I do solve this case. But I do know I like you Phillip, deviancies and all."

He looks up at into the rear view to catch you looking, he nibbles on his lower lip, nervous. " What are you saying?"

"Come home with me tonight?" 

***

You press Phillip against the door once you push it shut, pinning his hands above his head and sliding your thigh between his legs to put pressure on his hard on as you suck on his neck, scrapping your teeth over his skin, across his scars. 

"Oh fuck." Phillip gasps, his back arching so he can grind his crotch against your thigh, exposing more of his neck for you to suck on. 

You grin, loving his response to you, you move one hand to grip both his wrists and slide your free hand over his chest, fingers grazing a peaked nipple, down his stomach and past his hips to cup him. 

He's rock hard for you and quivers when you squeeze him, moaning into your ear, his hips bucking against your thigh. You pull back and take a look at him. 

His cock is straining against his pants, his nipples peaked, his neck covered with more of your bite marks, his lips swollen from kissing, his cheeks pink with heat and his eyes dark with lust. 

"God. You look so sexy." 

He blinks his eyes at you, slowly, his lust addled mind trying to focus. You take advantage and pull your phone out of your pocket, snapping three quick pictures of him like this. 

"Did you just take a picture?" He asks, taking a step towards you. 

"It  _ is  _ worth a thousand words." You quip, walking backwards through your living room to get to your bedroom doors, throwing your phone onto your couch with practiced ease. 

When your back hits the glass panes of your double doors you reach back, turn the handles, and step back into your dark room. 

Phillip's eyes lock on yours as he stands in the doorway and starts to sway his hips, his hands coming up to caress his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, sliding down his abs, teasing you by playing with the waist of his pants, giving you glimpses of his pubis. 

You lick your lips, following the path of his fingers as you take your shirt off, you have to sit down to unclip your boots boots before you can kick them off, your pants follow in a split second, leaving you in your boxer briefs. 

"Come here." You say, moving back on your bed until your back hits the headboard. 

Phillip licks his lips and toes off his own boots, his fingers working to undo his pants as he moves to the bed, he lets his pants drop as he crawls onto the bed. 

He's not wearing any underwear. 

"Shit." You say, meeting him halfway on the bed. You grip his naked hips and pull him against your body roughly, your covered cock grinding against his uncovered cock. You tilt your head and catch his lips, kissing him hungerly, your tongue seeking entrance, and dominating when he opens his mouth for you. 

Phillip moans, his own hands pulling your boxers down your legs to free your cock. Both of you groan and you break the kiss to hiss as your cocks touch for the first time, sending electric shivers down your spine. 

"Please, Anita, please." Phillip begs, his lips attaching to your neck, licking, kissing and sucking as one of his warm hands wraps around your length, stroking you, flexing his fingers around you.

Your hands move down to his ass, cupping and squeezing his cheeks roughly as you grind your cock into his hand, your head tilting further to the side to give him more access to your neck. 

You groan, your balls feeling heavy, ready to explode. You pull away, licking your lip. "Lay down." You tell Phillip as you move back to the right side bed drawer, pulling out lube and a pack of condoms. 

The condom is ribbed and pre-lubed, sliding easily down your nine inches, and when you turn back you see Phillip on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms as he watches you, eyes dark with list. 

You lean in to kiss him again, pulling back only when your lungs start to protest, you nip his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. You move to straddle his legs, leaning over him to trail your lips across his shoulders as you pop the cap and squeeze lube into your fingers. 

"It's gonna be a little cold." You say, nipping his shoulder, rubbing your fingers together to heat up the lube a bit. 

"It's okay...just go slow? I've never had someone as big as you."

You kiss his shoulder reassuringly, your forefinger pressing against the tight ring of his anus. He tightens up, his ass clenching, you coo softly and drift kisses down his spine as you push the tip of your finger inside. "Just relax baby."

Phillip sighs, his tight little ring flexing as you push more of your finger in. You tease him, sliding your finger in and out, pushing the lube deeper, you roll your finger, getting little gasps and moans from Phillip, as you rub your fingertip against his walls. 

"God, that feels so good." Phillip moans, his back arching, his ass flexing. 

You push your hips against his ass, rubbing your cock against him as you add another finger into his tight hole. He clenches around you, squeezing your fingers tightly and moaning softly. 

"Shit." Impatient, you pull your fingers out, you squirt lube onto your covered cock and stroke it down your whole length before you push your cock head between his cheeks, pressing your head against his relaxed ring of muscle. 

Phillip lifts his hips for you, his hands fisting in your sheets and his head turning back to look at you, his eyes wide and dark, his cheeks pink and his lips swollen. 

You lick your lips and lean over him, slowly pushing forwards, pushing into him. Phillip's ass flexes but his anus relaxes around you, letting your cock head slide into him with a gasp. 

" _ Oh. _ " He says softly, his ring of muscle clenching around your cock head, squeezing you. 

You swallow thickly and put your hands on either side of his head, leaning in to kiss him as you push more of your cock in, the skin condom letting you feel his heat as his walls clamp down around you. 

You groan against his mouth and slide your tongue into his mouth when you're pressed tight against his ass, your cock buried in his ass, his walls fluttering around you, warm, tight and slick with lube. 

Phillip slides his tongue against yours, giving a pained little moan as your cock stretches him open, but his hips move, rolling back against you as he breaks the kiss to take a gasping breath, eyes fluttering. "You're  _ so _ thick… _ fuck _ ." His head falls into the pillows, his ass squeezing and flexing around you. 

"You're so tight baby. You feel  _ so _ good." You coo, pressing soft kisses along his shoulders as you start to draw out of him, groaning in pleasure at the resistance, his walls clamping down tight around you. Reluctant to let you slide out. 

Phillip moans, his ass pushing up, trying to push back up on your cock as you pull out to the tip, teasingly sliding it in and out. Your hands fist in the pillows and you mouth at his shoulder, slowly pushing back into him, feeling him clench and squeeze and grip you. 

There's a fire in the pit of your stomach, spreading out through your body. Your balls feel heavy, full of cum. Your head is fuzzy and your senses work overtime to take in Phillip's soft moans and gasps, the feel and heat of him, the scent of sweat, sex and the strawberry watermelon smell of the flavored lube. 

"May I cum? Please, please let me come." Phillip begs, his voice soft and needy, his muscles squeezing you tightly, holding you inside him as his walls spasm around you. 

"God, yes, cum." You say, feeling ready to go off the edge yourself. You shift onto your knees and put your hands on Phillip's hips, pulling him up so you can thrust a little harder, slide deeper. 

Phillip gasps and leans up, pressing his back against your breasts, his hand coming up and round to hold onto your neck, his ass squeeze your tightly, his hips pushing back against your thrusting hips. 

"Bite me. Bite me… _ oh fuck _ …bite me…bite me." He moans, fingers digging into your neck, pushing you into his neck. 

You dig your fingers into his hips, pulling at him hard and roughly, slamming your hips into his ass while you put your mouth at his neck, biting him, digging your teeth into his skin hard enough to break it and to draw blood. 

"Yes!" Phillip yells, body shuddering, ass clenching. His blood coats your tongue, warm, salty and coppery. 

You groan, pulling his ass tight against you as your cock spasms, your balls clenching tight as you orgasm, shooting into the condom. You pull back from the bite wound and gasp in a deep breath, your body shuddering. 

Phillip slumps forward bonelessly and you follow him, resting gently against his back. His ass is still squeezing you, milking the last drops of cum out of you and into the condom. 

You both catch your breath and your eyes flutter, the activities of the last two days catching up to you. You pull out of Phillip, pressing a kiss into the base of neck at his little gasp. 

You roll onto your back and take the condom off, you tie it off and throw it into the waste basket before you relax into bed again. "I needed that." You say, feeling relaxed and sleepy. 

_ Nothing like a good orgasm.  _ You think. 

"Yeah." Phillip mumbles, his head turning towards you. You chuckle softly, his eyes are still hazy and the bite mark on his neck is already clotting with the blood drying. 

You sink into the bed and pull him against you, Phillip rests his head on your shoulder and his arm wraps around your waist, he snuggles into you. 

You pull the covers up over the two of you, you run your hand through his hair, smoothing out tangles as you lull yourself to sleep. 

***

_ Claude's sitting at a table, eating blackberries.  _

" _ Vampires don't eat solid food _ ."  _ You say, crossing your arms over your chest.  _

_ "Exactly." She smiles and pushes the bowl of fruit towards you.  _

_ You sneer in contempt. "I hate blackberries." _

_ She sighs and swings one leg over the other in a sensually easy way, her long fingers pluck a blueberry from the bowl, looking at it wistfully. "They were always my favorite, I haven't tasted them in a while." Her eyes drift up to you. "This doesn't have to be difficult Anita, this can be an amazing experience for the both of us." _

_ "Admit you planned this. Admit this is all some fucked up grab for power. I'm just a tool to you, aren't I?"  _

_ She pops the blueberry into her mouth and chews, giving a pleasured little sigh and she swallows. "Nikolaos will kill us both. You know it. We need to strike ma chárie." _

_ "There is no we Claude, you forced this shit on me. Against my will. Why shouldn't I just burned the lot of you out of your fucking den and be done with you?"  _

_ She smiles at you. "You know enough to know that once this starts there is no ending it. Our bond isn't fully done yet but it's there Anita, either of us dying now will cause irrevocable damage." _

_ You glare at her, growling. "Damn you Claude. Fuck you!"  _

_ She gets up and takes the bowl in her hands, lifting it towards you, there's blood filling the bowl, blueberries swimming in it, red liquid spilling over the rim and onto the table now. "I'm sorry. Drink, it will make you stronger."  _

You wake up in the dark, your bed empty with a note on the pillow next to you instead of Phillip's face. You scan it before putting it on your bedside table and getting out of bed. 

You head into the living room, first stopping at your entertainment system to put a Queen record on, turning the volume to its loudest before you walk to the couch to get your phone. 

The clock on your phone shows its six in the morning, too earlier for your liking. You've got one notification, a voicemail from Ronnie. 

" _ Hi, Nita. I got a meeting set up for tomorrow with the guy from HAV. My office, eleven o'clock. If the time is bad, leave a message, and I'll get back to you. Be careful _ ."

You text her to tell her the time is fine and go back to bed, letting Somebody To Love lull you back to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita gets closer to the vampire killer and finds a new lead

Black Sabbath blasting from your phone is what wakes you up. You groan, roll to the right side of the bed and pick your phone up, bringing it to your ear even as you keep your head buried into your pillow. 

"Anita, we got another vampire murder." Is what you hear when you answer the call. 

You blow out a big gust of air and roll onto your back, blinking your eyes in the dim light. "Hey Dolph." 

"You still asleep? Slow start today? Aren't you usually on your way to church by now?" 

You pull the phone away enough to check the time, nine in the morning. Last night's orgasm helped to dispel a lot of tension and anxiety, and you don't feel as tired as you did yesterday. 

But you don't feel like getting up, don't feel like going to church today, you just want to sink back into your silk sheets and get some more sleep. 

_ God will forgive my absence just this once.  _

But you could use the extra help and blessing from your priest, you hope for a revelation just to put a cherry on top. Some might think it ridiculous but it's happened before and everything just fell in place. 

And while divine aid is not something you rely on, every once in a while you think better at church. 

"I'm having a slow day. So, another one?" You ask as you get out of bed. Hopefully you'll be able to fit in a shower before you go. 

"Mmhuh."

"Just like the others?" You ask as you walk into your closet, work boots, jeans, boxer briefs with little rainbows and a black and green stripped t-shirt with the words EPIC written on the back. 

"Seems to be. Need you to come down and take a look."

"Give me the location." You say. Dolph doesn't make social calls.

The location is only about a block from Circus of the Damned. "That's on the fringe of the District. None of the other murders have been that far away from the Riverfront."

"True," he says.

"What else is different about this one?"

"You'll see it when you get here."

You hate it when he's all vague. "I'll see you in half an hour." 

"See you then." The phone goes dead.

You roll your eyes and put the phone down. A ten minute shower and four minutes for your skincare routine, three minutes to put your sheets in the washing machine, another minute to pull on your shoulder rig and a light green canvas jacket, and you're out the door, phone pressed to your ear as you make a call, and in the car. 

You have to put the peddle to the metal a little bit but soon you're pulling up to the crime scene. It's swarming with gawkers and police, you also see a news van, with a huge satellite antenna sticking out of its back like a ray gun. 

_ And so the circus begins.  _

You keep the crowd between yourself and the cameraman. You can see a reporter with a bob of blond hair and a stylish, figure-hugging business suit shoving a microphone into Dolph's face. You keep your smile off your face. 

You have a little plastic-enclosed card, picture and all, that gives you access to police areas. You feel like a junior Fed clipping that thing on. 

A vigilant uniform stops you at the yellow police banner, he stares at your I.D for several seconds, deciding whether or not your legit. You wonder if he'll let you through the line or call a detective over first. 

Finally he lifts the tape just as you're considering making yourself look innocent and harmless. A little hard to do when you have piercings in and your shoulder rig is showing from between your open overalls. 

The body lays near a lamp pole, legs spread-eagle, one arm twisted under the body, broken. The center of the back is missing like someone, or thing, shoved their hand through the body and just scooped out the center. 

You know that like the others, it's heart will be gone. 

Detective Clive Perry is standing by the body, he's tall and slender with mahogany skin, close cropped hair and light brown eyes. He's the newest member of the spook squad, soft spoken and pleasant to be around. 

You can't imagine Perry doing anything rude enough to piss someone off, but you don't get assigned to the squad without a reason. 

He looks up from his notebook. "Hi, Ms. Blake."

"Perry."

He smiles. "Sergeant Storr said you'd be coming down."

"Is everyone else finished with the body?"

He nods. "It's all yours."

You nod and move closer. There's a dark brown puddle of blood spread out from the body, you kneel down to get a closer look, the blood is congealed and rigor mortise has come and gone, if there was any. 

Vampires don't react to real death the way a human body does, making time of death harder to judge. But that's not your job. 

The shape of the body, and the cut of the black pants suit tells you it's a woman, it's kind of hard to tell considering the body is on its front, chest caved in, her spine white and glistening, and head missing. 

The skin of her neck looks torn, twisted, like someone twisted it off. 

The scent of death, blood and rot is strong in the air. A weaker woman would have lost her dinner already, but you're desensitized to this stuff. The blood, gore and guts barely faze you. 

You click your tongue,  _ is this a human trying to look like a monster, or a monster trying to look like a human?  _

No matter what the surface look reveals, the coroner always found knife marks on the body,  _ but the question is, did the knife marks come before or after death?  _

"Where's the head?" You ask.

Perry leads you eight feet down the sidewalk where there's a second, smaller pool of congealing blood oozing out from under a plastic cover. Perry bends over and grasps the plastic. "You ready?"

"Just lift it up man." You quip back, you've seen much worse than a severed head. 

The plastic lifts and your heart stutters in your chest. Long, black hair flows around a pale face, the hair matted and stuck with blood. The face is slack, almost doll-like. 

Still, you recognize her. 

"Shit." 

"What is it?" Perry looks up at you, dropping the plastic back over the head. 

Still, the image stays with you. You can admit there's an undercurrent of satisfaction,  _ one less vampire to kill when this goes to shit.  _

The dead vampire is Theresa. 

***

You get to Ronnie's office a few minutes before eleven. On the drive over here you realized you feel pity for Theresa, she was cruel, a killer, and you suffer no delusions that she would have been kind to you if Nikolaos gave the kill order. 

You push the door open. Ronnie' s office is full of windows, light glaring in from two sides, south and west. Which means in the afternoon the room is like a solar heater and even the air conditioning going at full blast isn't enough to overcome the heat. 

Ronnie waves you through the door into the almost blinding glare of her office. You can already feel a headache building. 

A delicate-looking woman sits in a chair across from Ronnie's desk. Her features are Asian, delicate and she has shiny black hair pulled back from her face in a bun. There's a royal purple jacket thrown over the arm of the chair, matching her tailored skirt, she's got on a silky lavender blouse that brings attention to her up-tilted eyes and the faint lavender shading on the lids and brow. 

You're caught off guard for a minute, seeing her like this, after all these years. You smile and step forward, hand extended. "Beverly, it has been a while."

She stands and puts a cool hand in yours. "Three years." Precise, that is Beverly all over.

"You two know each other?" Ronnie asks.

You turn back to her, eyebrow raised. "Bev didn't mention that she knew me?"

Ronnie shakes her head.

You stare at Beverly. "Why didn't you mention it to Ronnie?"

"I did not think it necessary." Bev has to raise her chin to look you in the eye.

Sometimes your height can be a pain in the neck for other people. 

"Is someone going to tell me where you two know each other from?" Ronnie asks, and you can almost catch the note of jealousy in her voice.

Ronnie moves past you to sit behind her desk, tilting the chair slightly back on its swivel, hands crossed over her stomach, and waits. 

"Do you mind if I tell her, Bev?" You ask, making yourself comfortable in the chair across from Beverly. 

Beverly sits down, smooth and ladylike. She's always had this dignity that impressed you, also, it's slightly depressing because it's the kind of behavior that your stepmom is always wanting from you. 

_ I'm just not meant to be dainty.  _

"If you feel it necessary, I do not object," she says.

"Bev's family were the victims of a vampire pack. Only Beverly survived. I was one of the people who helped destroy the vampires." You explain, brief, to the point, with a lot left out. Mostly the painful parts. 

Bev speaks in that quiet, precise voice of hers. "What Anita has left out is that she saved my life at the risk of her own." She glances down at her hands where they lay in her lap.

You remember your first glimpse of Beverly Chin, one pale leg thrashing against the floor, the flash of fangs as the vampire reared to strike. A glimpse of pale, screaming face and dark hair. 

You were down to your two last silver knives, unblessed and uncursed, your clips empty and guns therefore useless. You threw one of your blades and it struck the vampire in the shoulder, you were aiming for his heart but missed. 

That still stings. 

The vampire sprung to his feet and sped towards you. You remember Beverly beating the vampire's head with a silver candlestick, while you used your forearm to keep him away from your neck. 

Her shrieks stayed with you for weeks. 

Going through that type of thing bonds you together. Sure, friendships may fade, but there's always that obligation, that knowledge forged of terror and blood and shared violence. That never leaves. 

It's still between you now, after three years, straining and touchable. 

Ronnie is a smart lady and catches the awkward silence. "Would anybody like a drink?"

"Nonalcoholic."

"Beer." 

Beverly and you say at the same time. You laugh and the strain fades. 

Ronnie brings Beverly an icy diet Coke and you a bottle of a local IPA. You're glad you decided on the beer, you don't know how but she says she likes the taste. 

No one likes the taste. 

Bev takes hers graciously, and maybe it's what she drinks at home.

"Ronnie mentioned on the phone that there might be a death squad attached to HAV. Is that true?" You ask, popping the cap off and taking a swallow, cold spreading through you.

Bev stares down at the can, which she holds with one hand cupped underneath so it can't stain her skirt. "I do not know positively that it is true, but I believe it to be."

"Tell me what you've heard?" 

"There was talk for a while of forming a squad to hunt the vampires. To kill them as they have killed our . . . families. The president of course vetoed the idea. We work within the system. We are not vigilantes." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than you. She's shaken by what might have happened, her neat little world collapsing again. 

"But lately I have heard talk. People in our organization bragging of slaying vampires."

"How were they supposedly killed?" You ask, taking another sip.

She looks at you, hesitating. "I do not know."

"No hint?"

She shakes her head. "I believe I could find out for you. Is it important?"

"The police have hidden certain details from the general public. Things only the murderer would know."

"I see." She glances down at the can in her hands, then up at you. "I do not believe it is murder even if my people have done what the papers say. Killing dangerous animals should not be a crime."

You agree with her. You know there are some quote, unquote good vampires but they are massively outnumbered by the vampires that have lost their humanity, that have chosen to be monsters, killing indiscriminately. 

"Why tell us?" 

She looked directly at you, dark, nearly black eyes staring into you face. "I owe you."

"You saved my life as well. You owe me nothing." You say back, shifting slightly in the chair, rolling your shoulders because the shoulder rig is suddenly sitting too tight. 

"There will always be a debt between us, always."

You look at her face, searching, and understand. Beverly begged you not tell anyone she had beaten the vampire's head in. You think it horrified her that she was capable of such violence, regardless of motive.

You don't think anyone really believed you when you said Beverly just distracted the vampire while you did the actual killing, she was covered in blood and bits of brain. But no one questioned it. 

Beverly stands, smoothing her skirt down in the back. "I will leave a message with Ms. Sims when I find out more."

I nod. "I appreciate what you're doing." She might be betraying her cause for you.

She lays her purple jacket over her arm, small purse clasped in her hands. "Violence is not the answer. We must work within the system. Humans Against Vampires stands for law and order, not vigilantism." It sounds like a pre-recorded speech. 

She shakes hands with the both of you, her hand cool and dry. She leaves, shoulders straight, head held high, and the door closes firmly but softly behind her. You'd never know that she was touched by extreme violence just by looking at her. 

Ronnie says, "Okay, now you fill me in. What have you found out?"

"How do you know I've found out anything?" You quip back.

"Lucky guess."

You take a deep pull from the beer bottle, almost draining it before you tell her a of Theresa's death. You tell her everything, except about Claude, that's something you're taking to your grave. 

Ronnie lets out a low whistle. "Damn, you have been busy. Do you think a human death squad is doing it?"

"You mean HAV?"

She nods.

You exhale. "If it's HAV, I don't have the faintest idea how they're doing it. It takes superhuman strength to rip a head off." 

"You could do it, with your upgrades." Ronnie points out. 

"Keyword being upgrades." You say back. 

"Under pressure, little old grannies have lifted entire cars." She tries again. 

She has a point. "How would you like to visit the Church of Eternal Life?" You ask.

"Thinking about joining up?"

You make a face at her. 

She laughs. "Okay, okay, stop glowering at me. Why are we going?"

"Last night they raided the party with clubs. I'm not saying they meant to kill anyone, but when you start beating on people," you shrug, "accidents happen."

"You think the Church is behind it?"

"Don't know, but if they hate the freaks enough to storm their parties, maybe they hate them enough to kill them."

"Most of the Church's members are vampires," she points out.

"Exactly. Superhuman strength and the ability to get close to the victims." Though it doesn't explain the missing bits. 

Ronnie smiles. "Not bad, Blake, not bad."

You hum, shifting again, the back of your shirt is damp with sweat now, making your shoulder rig uncomfortable. "Jesus, how in the hell do you work in here?" You ask, unclipping the rig so you can lift your shirt up and fan it a bit. 

"You get used to it." Ronnie says, laughing at you as she gets up to get you another cold bottle.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita almost gets killed and meets a new suspect.

The Church of Eternal Life, main building, is just off Page Avenue, far from the District. They don't like to be associated with the riffraf, vampire strip club, Circus of the Damned, tsk-tsk. They think of themselves as mainstream undead, looking down at the others. 

Of course, the rest of the undead look right back down their noses at the members of the Church, thinking themselves superior. 

The church itself is set in an expanse of naked ground, small trees struggle to grow into big trees to shade the white stone church. 

You pull into the parking lot, the asphalt shiny and new. 

"Pretty," Ronnie says, nodding in the building's direction.

You shrug, pulling your jacket on to cover your guns. "If you say so. Frankly, I never get used to the generic effect."

"Generic effect?" she asks.

"The stained glass is all abstract color. No scenes of Christ, no saints, no holy symbols. Clean and pure as a wedding gown fresh out of plastic."

Ronnie gets out of the car, sunglasses sliding into place, she stares at the church, arms crossed over her chest. "It looks like they just unwrapped it and haven't put the trimmings on yet."

"Yeah, a church without God. What is wrong with this picture?"

She doesn't laugh. "Will anybody be up this time of day?"

"Oh, yes, they recruit during the day."

"Recruit?"

"You know, go door to door, like the Mormons and the Jehovah's Witnesses."

She stares at you. "You've got to be kidding?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

She shakes her head. "Door-to-door vampires. How," she wiggles her hands back and forth, "convenient."

"Yep, let's go see who's minding the office."

Broad white steps lead up to huge double doors, one of the doors is open and the other has a sign that says, "Enter Friend and be at Peace."

You shake your head. The Church preys on one of the most basic fears of mankind, death. Everyone fears death but people who don't believe in God have a hard time with death being _it_. 

Die and you cease to exist. 

But the Church of Eternal Life, they promise what the name says, and they prove it every day. No leaps of faith, no waiting around and no questions left unanswered. 

The Catholic Church sees voluntary vampirism as a kind of suicide, you agree, though the Pope also excommunicated all animators, unless you ceased raising the dead. 

You became a Episcopalian.

Polished wooden pews run in two wide rows up towards what would have been an altar, there's a pulpit, but you couldn't call it an altar, it's just a blank blue wall surrounded by more white upsweeping walls.

The windows are red and blue stained glass, the sunlight sparkles through them, making delicate colored patterns on the white floor.

"Peaceful," Ronnie says softly.

"So are graveyards."

She smiles and knocks her shoulder into yours. "I thought you'd say that."

"No teasing; we're here on business."

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Just back me up; look menacing if you can manage it. Look for clues."

"Clues?" she asks.

"Yeah, you know, clues, ticket stubs, half-burned notes, leads."

"Oh, those."

"Quit grinning at me, Ronnie."

She adjusts her sunglasses and does her best "cold" look, she's pretty good at it, thugs have been known to shrivel at twenty paces. You'll see how it works on church members.

There's a small door to one side of the so called altar, it leads into a carpeted hallway, an air-conditioned hush envelopes you. There are bathrooms to the left, an open room to the right, you wonder if they have a sermons in there, maybe followed by blood. 

The offices are marked by a sign that says Office, there's an outer office, the proverbial secretarial desk with a young man sat behind the desk. He's slender, short brown hair styled and cut carefully, wire-framed glasses accentuate his square face. 

There's a healing bite mark on his throat. 

He stands and comes around the desk, hand extended, smiling at you. "Greetings, friends, I'm Bruce. How may I help you today?"

His handshake is firm enough, strong but not overbearing, a lingering friendly touch, not sexual. It's a really nice car salesmen handshake. 

"I would like to set up an appointment to speak with Malcolm," You say, pulling your hand away and tucking them in your jacket pockets. 

He blinks once. "Have a seat."

You sit and Ronnie leans against the wall, to one side of the door, her hands folded, looking cool and bodyguardish. 

Bruce goes back around his desk, after offering you coffee, and sits with folded hands. "Now, Miss. . ."

"Ms. Blake."

He doesn't flinch which means this shouldn't be too hard. "Ms. Blake, why do you wish to meet with the head of our church? We have many competent and understanding counselors that will help you make your decision."

_ Yeah, I'm sure you do.  _ You think, smiling sweetly. "I think Malcolm will want to speak with me. I have information about the vampire murders."

His smile slips. "If you have such information, then go to the police."

"Even if I have proof that certain members of your church are doing the murders?" You eye him, counting each facial twitch. 

He swallows, fingers pressing the top of his desk until the fingertips turn white. "I don't understand. I mean . . ."

You smile at him. "Let's face it, Bruce. You are not equipped to handle murder. It isn't in your training, now is it?"

"Well, no, but . . ."

"Then just give me a time to come back tonight and see Malcolm."

"I don't know. I . . ."

"Don't worry about it. Malcolm is the head of the church. He'll take care of it."

He's nodding, too rapidly. His eyes flick to Ronnie, back to you then down to a leather-bound day planner laid on his desk and he starts flipping through. "Nine, tonight." He picks up a pen, poised and ready. "If you'll give me your full name, I'll pencil you in."

"Anita Blake." And still nothing, no eyes wide in horror, no shrieks of fear. 

It's a blow to the ego a little. 

"And this is pertaining to?" He's regaining his professionalism.

You stand up. "Murder, it's pertaining to murder."

"Oh, yes, I . . ." He scribbles something down. "Nine tonight, Anita Blake, murder." He frowns down at the note as if there's something wrong with it.

"Don't frown so. You've got the message right."

He stares up at you, looking a little pale.

"I'll be back. Make sure he gets the message."

Bruce nods again, too fast, eyes large behind his glasses.

Ronnie opens the door and you preceded her out, she brings up the rear like a bad-movie bodyguard. When you're out into the main church again, she laughs. "I think we scared him."

"Bruce scares easy."

She nods, eyes shining.

The barest mention of violence, murder, and he fell apart. Not great vampire material. 

Outside the sun is blinding after the dimness of the church, you squint and put your hand up over your eyes, cursing yourself for forgetting your sunglasses. 

You catch movement from the corner of your eye and start to turn when Ronnie screams your name and slams into your side, carrying you down and back through the church doors. 

Bullets blast into the door where you were. 

Ronnie scrambles behind you, near the wall, you lay on your side pressed the against the door, guns in your hands. Your heart is steady in your chest, your thoughts calm and collected, your ears tuned to the man who tried to kill you as he comes up the stairs. 

You've gotta admire him, he's gonna keep coming, even if he's possibly walking into an ambush,  _ amateur.  _

You inch forward, moving up on your feet as he comes up the stairs and his shadow falls inside the door. He's not even trying to hide, probably assuming you aren't armed. 

You're always armed. 

Bruce calls, "What's going on here?"

Ronnie yells, "Get back inside."

You ignore all of it, completely focused on the shooter, on the door, on the noise outside trying to listen for a second shooter. 

You don't have time for Bruce. 

You bring your guns up to eye level and the guy walks right into it, gun in his hand, eyes focused forward. He doesn't see you until your guns are in his face. "Don't. Move." You growl out, the adrenaline getting to you now, fanning the flames, stoking your anger. 

_ This motherfucker actually tried to kill me.  _

He turns his head, slowly, towards you. "You're The Executioner." His voice is soft, hesitant.

Your trigger fingers ich, if you say no he turns to Ronnie, you say yes he brings his gun up to you. Either way this guy is dying today, you know it in your bones. 

_ Plausible deniability _ , is what you think as you answer. "Yes."

His eyes go wide, not expecting that, and his arm is slow to rise up. But it's too late. 

"Don't!" Ronnie screams.

Your right hand drops down and your forefinger taps the trigger, the shot is loud, the kick back of the gun familiar. 

The impact raises the guy off his feet and sends him staggering back, blood blossoming on his shirt. He slams into the half open door and falls flat on his back through it, all you can see are his feet. 

You keep your guns up as you peak around the door, sweeping with your eyes, looking for another shooter. When you don't see any immediately you step through the door, one gun down and pointed at the dead man, the other up, waiting for another shooter to possibly pop up. 

You stand for a minute, waiting, eyes even scanning the nearby rooftops for the glint of a sniper scope, when no one jumps out and no snipers start shooting at you, your right gun is holstered and you move towards the guy, kicking the gun from his fingers. 

You wait as it goes skating down the smooth steps, satisfaction filling you. 

You check the guy's pulse on the off chance he could actually be alive. He isn't. The ammunition you use is meant to take out vampires, and it did its job well. 

The bullet made a small entry hole on one side and then exploded on the other, making a very big exit hole. 

His neck rolls to one side and you see the two bite marks that decorate his neck. You sneer and stand back up.  _ I'm getting real tired of vampires and their fucking shit.  _

Ronnie is leaning in the doorway, lookin pale, her gun pointed at the dead man. You tuck your other gun away and move in front of her, blocking her view of the body, for all the good it does you. You take the gun from her slightly trembling hands and tuck it into the waistband of your pants. 

Stupid place to put a gun but you're all out of gun holsters. 

"I don't usually carry a gun during the day, but I knew I'd be with you." She says softly, eyes focused on your shoulder. 

You smile, Ronnie is a P.I, she doesn't usually have to use a gun as more than a piece of decoration so you're not surprised that she's a little shell-shocked. 

"You okay?" you ask, hand coming up to gently cup her cheek, stroking with your thumb. 

She sighs, eyes closing, she steps into you, her face burying in your shoulder. 

Bruce comes into the doorway, pale. "He . . . he tried to kill you." His voice cracks with fear.

"Do you recognize him?" You ask over Ronnie's shoulder, rubbing her back.

He shakes his head over and over again, rapid jerky movements.

"Are you sure?"

"We . . . we do not . . . condone violence." He swallows hard, his voice a cracking whisper. "I don't know him."

Maybe Bruce is honest and he doesn't know the dead man, maybe the dead man  _ is  _ a member of the church but Bruce has just never seen him. Either way, dead-man is involved with vampires. "Call the police, Bruce."

He just stands there, staring at the corpse.

You snap your fingers and get his eyes to focus on you. "Call the cops Bruce."

He nods jerkily and goes back inside. Ronnie pulls back, wiping tears away. "Sorry. Adrenaline." She says softly, laughing. 

"It's okay. Thanks for pushing me out of the way. That would have hurt."

Ronnie looks at you, eyes scanning your face. "Would you have died?" 

"Maybe, but maybe not. I don't know exactly how much the regeneration will heal. And I'm not real keen on finding out anytime soon."

You don't ask her if she's alright, that would be a stupid question, instead you pull her back into the church, away from the body, and to a pew where you pull her down to sit beside you. 

Through the door you can hear the distant, nearing, whoop-whoop of police sirens. 

Neither of you say anything and you just run your fingers through Ronnie's hair as you sit and think. In a very twisted logic, that someone is trying to kill you is a good thing, it means you know something important, or you're close to something important. 

Only thing is, you have no idea what could be important enough to kill for. 

Well, except for the Claude thing, but only two, possibly three people know about  _ that  _ factoid. 

***

18:45 in the early evening you're pulling back up to the church, the sky a rich purple, the clouds pink like cotton candy. True dark is a few minutes away, the ghouls would be out and about already, but the vampires have a few heartbeats of waiting left. 

You pull your jacket over to cover the shoulder rig and the two knives you have strapped to each forearm, you've also got another two knives tucked into your boots and your power rings on. You're feeling a little sweaty, but the small arsenal you have on you makes it worth it. You're gonna need all of it. 

Malcolm, is one of the most powerful master vampires in the city. After seeing Nikolaos and Claude, you'd say he ranks third. 

So, why confront him? Because you can't think of something else to do. 

While you waited for this appointment you decided to take some precautions. First you got the security company to come and install their premium security package, then you left a letter detailing your suspicions about everything in a safe deposit box and another letter on the secretary's desk at Animators, Inc that will go out Monday if you don't stop it. 

You also left a document, detailing the last two days, on your Cloud, it's set on a timer to be distributed to all the media outlets unless you put a password in, in the next four hours. 

Someone actually manages to kill you and Nikolaos will go down, regardless. 

This time around the parking lot is full, people drifting inside the church in small groups, a few just walked up, no car. You think maybe they're vampires, but it's still too early for them to come out. 

You zip your jacket up enough to hide your guns and get out of the car, starting to walk to the stairs. 

A young woman, brown hair gelled into an artificial wave over one eye, dressed in a white strapless dress, hands out pamphlets just inside the door. A guide to the service. When you get close she smiles and says, "Welcome. Is this your first time?"

"I have an appointment to see Malcolm."

Her smile doesn't change, it deepens actually, a dimple flashing to one side of her lipsticked mouth. 

"Just a minute; let me get someone to handle the door." She walks away to tap a young man on the shoulder, she whispers against his cheek and shoves the pamphlets into his hands. She comes back to you, smoothing along the dress she's wearing. "If you'll follow me."

Coming into the door behind you is a couple, the man wears a suit and the woman the proverbial dress, hose and sandals, they could have been coming to your church, any church. As you follow your escorts down the side aisle towards the door you glance at a couple dressed in postmodern punk. The girl's hair looks like Frankenstein's Bride done in pink and green and the boy, his hair is buzzed close to his head and colored red. 

A bright, obnoxious, red. 

The Church of Eternal Life attracts a wide following, diversity being its game. They appeal to the agnostic, the atheist, the disillusioned mainstreamers and unlike a lot of the other organized religion, they don't turn away the LGBTQ. 

For that you  _ might  _ be willing to overlook all the other things wrong with this church. Just like you were willing to overlook some things with Catholism. 

The church is nearly full and it isn't dark yet, the vampires have yet to show, but humans are arriving in droves. It's been a long time since you've seen a church this full, except for Easter or Christmas. 

A shiver runs down your spine. It's chilling that so many people are here, so many humans. If vampires make up less than a quarter of the total human population, and all their churches are packed like this, every single time, how long before humans become a minority? 

How long before humans are the ones pushed into the shadows? 

_ Other Supernaturals won't allow the vampires that much power…I hope.  _

Your hands clench, cold, and you jam them into your pockets, your shoulders hunching. You follow your guide through the door, out the church and past the coffee klatch area, there's even coffee percolating on a white-draped table and a bowl of reddish punch that looks too viscous to be punch at all. 

The woman says, "Would you like some coffee?"

_ With a shot of blood?  _ "No, thank you." You say back. 

She smiles pleasantly and opens the door marked "Office" for you. You go in and there's no one there. 

"Malcolm will be with you as soon as he wakens. If you like, I can wait with you." She glances at the door as she says it.

"I wouldn't want you to miss the service. I'll be fine alone."

Her dimples flash as she smiles. "Thank you; I'm sure it will be a short wait." With that she's gone and you are alone. Alone with the secretary's desk and the leatherbound day planner for the Church of Eternal Life. 

You walk over to the desk and open the planner to the week before the first vampire murder. Bruce has very neat handwriting, each entry precise and semi-cursive. There's time, name and a one-sentence description of the meeting. 

10:00,  _ Jason MacDonald, Magazine interview _ and 9:00,  _ Meeting with Mayor, Zoning problems _ , normal stuff for the Billy Graham of Vampirism. Then two days before the first murder there's a notation that's in different handwriting, it's smaller, but no less neat. 

3:00, _Eden_. You frown, that's all there is, first name and time, no last name, no reason for the meeting. And Bruce didn't make the appointment. You click your tongue,  _ can it be?  _

Eden is a familiar name, one you've heard Enid use once or twice.  _ So _ , you ask yourself as you quickly flip through the rest of the planner,  _ is it my Enid, was Malcolm meeting with the hit woman of the undead? Or am I just overreaching and it's a clandestine meeting with another Eden? Malcolm's dinner date maybe? Or maybe Bruce was just away from the desk and someone else filled in.  _

The rest of the planner has nothing else that catches your interest, and except for that one entry, every other one is made in Bruce's neat writing. 

If it was Enid, she met with Malcolm two days before the first death,  _ where does that leave me?  _

_ Between a rock and a fucking hard place.  _

If it is Enid, then she's the killer and Malcolm is paying her. But there's something keeping you from accepting this theory, the attempt on your life. You and Enid have a complex relationship, but trust is paramount,  _ how many contracts have we worked together? How many times have we came to each other's aide? How many times has she been in bed with me?  _

It's just too many times to count, Enid wouldn't kill you, you know this in your bones. You've come too far with each other. 

Of course, Malcolm could have panicked and sent one of his followers to do it. 

But that doesn't really flow with you either. 

You exhale in frustration and close the planner and move to the waiting area they have, picking up a magazine to flip through as you wait. You're on the gossip column when the door opens and Malcolm steps out, he's tall, painfully thin with large, bony hands that belong more to a muscular man. 

He's got short, curly hair and it's bright and yellow, _this_ _is_ _what blond hair looks like after nearly three hundred years in the dark,_ you think. He's dressed in a modest dark blue suit, pale blue shirt and a blue silk tie. 

Malcolm's presence fills the small room like water, chilling and pricking along your skin, knee-deep and rising. Another nine hundred years and he just might rival Nikolaos. 

_ And I'll probably be around to see it if Claude gets her way.  _

Malcolm smiles, not trying to cloud your mind, and he's good at resisting the urge. His entire credibility rests on the fact that he doesn't cheat. 

"Miss Blake, how good to see you." He doesn't offer to shake hands; he knows better. "Bruce left me a very confused message. Something about the vampire murders?" His voice is deep and soothing. 

"I told Bruce I have proof that your church is involved with the vampire murders."

"And do you?"

"Yes." You lie, believing the lie with all your will. And if he actually met with Enid, you  _ might _ have your murderer. 

"Hmmm, you are telling the truth. Yet, I know that it is not true." His power rolls over you, warm and thick.

You shook your head. "Cheating, Malcolm, using your powers to probe my mind. Tsk, tsk."

He shrugs, hands open at his sides. "I control my church, Miss Blake. They would not do what you have accused them of."

"They raided a freak party last night with clubs. They hurt people." 

He frowns. "There is a small faction of our followers who persist in violence. The freak party, as you call it, is an abomination and must be stopped, but through legal channels. I have told my followers this."

"But do you punish them when they disobey you?" You ask.

"I am not a policeman, or a priest, to mete out punishment. They are not children. They have their own minds."

"I'll bet they do."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he asks.

"It means, Malcolm, that you are a master vampire. None of them can stand against you. They'll do anything you want them to."

"I do not use mind powers on my congregation."

You scoff, his power is oozing against you, trying to gain control. He wasn't even trying, it's just spillover. If you were a normal girl you would already be influenced, open to any and all of his suggestions.  _ Does he even realize? Is it actually an accident?  _

"You had a meeting two days before the first murder." You press on. 

He smiles, careful not to show fangs. "I have many meetings."

"I know, you are  _ real _ popular, but you'll remember this meeting. You hired a hit woman to kill vampires." You watch his face, but he's too good. There's a flicker in his eyes, unease maybe, then it's gone, replaced by that shining blue-eyed confidence.

He strides towards you then, quick, nearly a blur of motion. Your gun is in your left hand, finger on the trigger, pointed at his chest. 

"My," he says softly.

You stare at him, jaw clenched, quite willing to put a bullet in him, not because he scared you, nope, but because if he can sense, deduced what's going on with you, and he lets it slip? You're looking at a target on your back for the rest of your now, possibly, immortal life. 

_ Fucking Claude _ . 

"You carry at least the first mark, Miss Blake. Some master vampire has touched you. Who?"

"All do respect, for your age if nothing else, it's really none of your business."

"As you wish." And suddenly he's standing near the door again, casual as can be, your finger twitches. 

"You hired a woman to slay the freak vampires." You say. 

"No," he replies, "I did not."

It's frustrating when someone looks so damn blasé when you point a gun at them. "But you did hire an assassin." 

He shrugs. "You do not really expect me to do anything but deny that, do you?"

"Guess not." What the heck, might as well ask. "Are you or your church connected in any way to the vampire murders?"

He almost laughs. You don't blame him, no one in their right mind would just say yes, but sometimes you can learn things from the way a person denies something. The choice of lies can be almost as helpful as the truth.

"No, Miss Blake."

"You did hire an assassin." Now it's a statement, a fact.

The smile drains from his face and stares at you, his presence crawling along your skin. "Miss Blake, I believe it is time for you to leave."

"A man tried to kill me today."

"That is hardly my fault."

"He had two vampire bites in his neck."

Another flicker in his eyes,  _ unease? Hopefully.  _

"He was waiting for me outside your church. I was forced to kill him on your steps." 

He's frowning now, a thread of anger like heat oozing through the room. "I am unaware of this, Miss Blake. I will look into it."

You lower your gun but don't put it away. You can only hold a person at gunpoint so long before it gets silly. "Don't be too hard on Bruce. He doesn't do well around violence."

Malcolm straightens, pulling at his suit jacket. A nervous gesture. You keep the smile you feel coming contained,  _ I hit a nerve _ .

"I will look into it, Miss Blake. If he was a member of our church, we owe you an extreme apology."

"I think you're involved with this mess Malcolm, you may not have spilled blood, but it was done with your approval."

_ And nothing, no twitch, no nervous flutter, he's got one hell of a poker face. But he's involved, somehow, someway, he's got a finger in the pie.  _

"Please, go now, Miss Blake." He opens the door as he says it.

You walk by, gun still in hand. "Sure, I'll go, but I won't go away."

He stares at you, eyes angry. "Do you know what it means to be marked by a master vampire?"

Your jaw clenches, glaring at him. "I know."

He smiles, full of pity that makes you want to lift the gun and put a bullet in his brain. "If it becomes too much for you, remember our church is here to help." He closes the door in your face. Softly.

"There's nothing you can do." And boy, is that gut wrenching. Once the process starts, there's no stopping it. You could walk away, go to some far off place. 

But Claude is a part of you now, she'll find you. Eventually. 

_ Fucking vampires.  _ You put your gun away and spot a small door marked Exit, you take it. You ignore the church and walk to your car, body shaking with anger. 

_ The past three days have been absolutely shit, a complete nightmare. When's it going to end?  _

Tonight was not a complete bust, you now know the reason Enid is in town, at least a portion of it. Malcolm hired her to kill a vampire, you don't think it was the freak vampires, even Enid at her scariest couldn't do what was done to those bodies. 

That was something with a touch of Supernatural and Enid is completely human.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip is in danger and Anita nuts up.

Fifteen minutes from your apartment, as you're sitting at a red light, your phone rings. Hooked up to the Bluetooth you just press the answer button on your steering wheel. "Yes?" 

"Anita, it's Willie, they got Phillip! They're hurting him, bad! You gotta co-" 

Willie is cut off and the call is dropped. You curse, heart starting to pick up pace, you pull out of the line of standing cars and make a illegal U-turn. 

Your phone rings again and you answer, already knowing who it'll be. "Nikolaos!" 

"You heard Willie. Come and get it, animator. I don't really have to threaten your pretty lover, do I?" Nikolaos's laughter fills the phone, soft like bells.

You're tempted to step on the gas, but being pulled over by the cops won't help anyone, so you drive as close to the speed limit as you can, hands tight around the wheel, mind running through a million scenarios. 

_ Phillip stood up for me last night, and now he's paying for it.  _

You clench your jaw, feeling your teeth grind at the force.  _ Phillip's hurt because of me _ , you think,  _ just like Catherine and Ronnie. No more _ . 

You're reselute, you're going to get Phillip, save him any way you can and then you're going to burn those fucking vampires to the ground. 

_ Every fucking single one of them.  _

The anger keeps the fear you feel at bay, you're going to step into the master's lair, and if she was upset at Phillip, then how is she going to feel about you? You shiver and steel yourself. 

Circus of the Damned is housed in an old warehouse, the name emblazoned across the roof in colored lights. Giant clown figurines dance around the words in a frozen pantomime, and if you look closely, you can see the clowns have fangs. It's on brand. 

You pull up into the parking lot and get out of the car, walking around to the boot. You take off your jacket, your rig, your shirt and the arm sheaths, shivering in the cool wind that blows across your naked skin. 

You pull open the hidden compartment in your boot where your weapons lay and pull a long sleeved shirt out. It's black, with a hole at the wrists that your thumbs go through and a velcro collar that'll protect your neck. 

You pull it on, make sure the collar is secure and that your thumbs are through the holes. "Trusty Kevlar." You say. 

You had the thing made shortly after the whole Valentine thing, you wanted better protection from vampire bites. The shirt is a mix of Kevlar, Darwin bark spider silk and spun strands of silver, it's lightweight, breathes and is fire, stab and bullet proof. And no matter how hard a vampire bites, their teeth won't penetrate. 

It took a lot of trial and error but you finally got it right. 

Around the handles of your twin guns go two rubber bands, both inscribed with a homing runes that sync up to a ring you slide onto your right pinky. Now even if they take away your guns, you can just call them to you. 

Guns ready, you pull on your shirt and shoulder rig, holstering your guns before putting on your jacket. You roll your shoulders and continue on with your prep. 

Two copper bracelets, inscribed with Futhark rune  _ hagalaz, _ which represents Hail and symbolizes Nature, Wrath, Being Tested, Overcoming Obstacles _. _ When they're on you can feel them warm up, spreading a pleasent warmth through your body, a tingle up and down your spine. 

You grin, while your guns are finding you, you'll still have a devastating tool at your disposal. 

You crack your fingers and take two extra clips of ammo for each gun, you're a pretty accurate shot 99.9% of the time, so you don't think you'll need the extra ammo, but just in case. 

Clips in ammo pouch, and ammo pouch clipped to the back of your belt, you close the boot, lock your car and start walking towards the building. 

The sides of the building are strung with huge cloth signs, like an old-fashioned sideshow. One banner shows a man being hung; "The Death Defying Count Alcourt," it says. 

Zombies crawled from a graveyard in one picture; "Watch the Dead Rise from the Grave." 

A very bad drawing shows a man halfway between wolf and man shape; Fabian, the Werewolf. There are other signs. Other attractions. None of them look very wholesome.

Guilty Pleasures treads a thin line between entertainment and the sadistic. The Circus goes over the edge and down into the abyss.

Noise hits you at the door, a blast of carnival sounds, the push and shove of the crowd, the rustling of hundreds of people. The lights come in a hundred different colors, all eye-searing, all guaranteed to attract attention. 

Or make you lose your lunch. 

You feel high strung, nerve endings firing on all cylinders, like you just took a big hit of coke and you're cruising. Your hands shake from the adrenaline and you take deep breaths to calm down, pushing your way through the crowds, the press of bodies feeling claustrophobic. 

The air smells of cotton candy, corn dogs, the cinnamon smell of elephant ears, snow cones, sweat, and under it all the smell of blood. 

You actually start to calm down, and everything comes into hyperfocus. 

The blood smells like sweet copper pennies, and that smell mingles over everything, most people don't recognize it but there is another scent on the air, not just blood, but violence. Of course, violence has no smell. Yet, always there. The barest hint of long-closed rooms and rotting cloth.

You've never come here before, except on police business. What you wouldn't give for a few uniforms right now.

Half way from the entrance and the crowd parts like water as Winter moves through the crowd, coming towards you. He's wearing the proverbial strongman's outfit, fake zebra strips on a white background that exposes most of his upper body and his legs are in a stripped leotard. 

"Is your entire family obscenely tall, or is it just you?" You joke.

He frowns, eyes narrowing. "Follow me," he says. 

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets, your heart beating a slow and steady pace, ready for a fight, your brain works faster, processing all the little bits of data your eyes, ears and nose are picking up. 

A large blue tent takes up one corner of the warehouse, with people lining up, showing tickets, a man stands in front of the door flaps, calling out in a booming voice. "Almost show time, folks. Present your tickets and enter. See the hanging man. Count Alcourt will be executed before your very eyes."

You pass a full-size Ferris wheel, its glowing top nearly brushing the ceiling, and to the side a man holds a baseball out to you. "Try your luck, little lady."

You ignore him but glance at the prizes, a lot of stuffed animals and ugly dolls. The stuffed toys are mostly predators: soft plush panthers, toddler-size bears, spotted snakes, and giant fuzzy-toothed bats.

There's a bald man in white clown makeup selling tickets to the mirror maze, he stares at the children as they go inside his glass house. You can almost feel the weight of his eyes on their backs, like he's memorizing every line of their small bodies. 

You see a Funhouse with more clowns and screams and a haunted house off to the side but you don't pay much attention to them because you and Winter have reached the little door leading into the back areas. 

He's frowning at you, arms crossed over his chest, back straight, he looks tense. He opens the door and you walk through. The tall, bald man who was with Nikolaos that first time is standing against the wall, at attention. His face is handsome, narrow, with eyes that are prominent because there's no hair. 

He looks at you like a teacher looks at troublemaking children. "Search her for weapons before we go down." His voice is deep, faintly British, and human. 

Winter nods and his big hands lift your jacket, pulling both guns out of the holster, along with the four kunai you've got sheathed there and your ammo pouch.  _ Just don't look check my boots,  _ you think. 

"Check her arms for knives."

You glare at the bald guy as Winter grips your jacket like he means to tear the sleeves. You growl at him, letting all your anger and frustration come out. 

Winter actually takes a step back from you, eyeing you cautiously. 

"This jacket costs more than you make in a month, muscle man." You take the jacket off, shaking it and emptying the pockets just to show him there's nothing in there before sling it over your shoulder and showcase your sheathless arms. 

You turn your hard eyes back to the bald guy as you pull the jacket on. "I want my shit back at the end of this, if any of my knives or my guns are scratched or chipped, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

The bald guy eyes you, and you think you see respect shining in his eyes. A small tilt of his head is all you get before turns to Winter again. "Check her legs."

Winter misses the two daggers tucked into each boot, completely over looks the bracers you have on, and doesn't even notice the throwing star you have for a belt buckle.  _ Bully for me.  _

Bald man, seemingly satisfied you don't have any other weapons on you, says, "The master waits for us, with your friend." And leads the way down the stairs, Winter bringing up the rear. 

A few minutes later you come to a stop at the dungeon,  _ figures _ , and the bald man knocks on the door twice, not too hard and not too soft. 

There's a moment of silence, then the bright, high laughter drifts from inside. You clench your hands, feeling the bracers drawing power from nature from the earth and the damp wetness from somewhere down here, even from the air you breathe. 

It fills you up, makes you feel powerful, too big for your skin, for your body. 

When you first got into runes, Manny, the animator who trained you, who taught you how to raise the dead and how to slay vampires, thought you were ridiculous. 

Manny's a traditionalist, a stake-and-garlic man, he carries a gun, but as backup. 

Though, when you got your Steel ring and used it a week later to electecute a vampire who was up for execution, from sixteen feet away, he quickly changed his tune. 

Sixteen feet can mean all the difference between walking away unscathed and having a chunk of your neck town out. 

To stake a vampire you have to get real fucking close, and after Valentine you seriously didn't want to be breathing-the-same-air distance with another vampire ever again. 

_ What I wouldn't give to have him at my side right now.  _ But unfortunately for you, two years ago, Rosita, Mammy's wife, came to you and begged you not to endanger her husband any more,  _ fifty-two is too old to still be hunting vampires _ , she said,  _ and what about me and the children?  _

Somehow you got all the blame, even though it was Manny that brought the next case after your stay in the hospital. She guilt tripped you, made you swear never to ask Manny for help on a hunt ever again. 

She made you swear in front of God, at his altar. 

Frankly, if she hadn't been crying you would have flat out refused. But the tears got to you, it was like watching your mom cry. 

It was a sucker punch and she knew it. 

The door opens and Valentine makes a hand-sweeping motion. "Come in, come in." He's wearing a silver mask this time, a strand of his auburn hair stuck to the forehead of the mask, sticky with blood.

Your jaw clenches tighter and your teeth grind, you can feel moisture collecting at your back, there for you to use.  _ Mother Nature is with me tonight.  _

Valentine steps against the door, waiting for you to pass, bald man's face is unreadable, he motions you ahead of him. 

Your hands fist and when you take a step forward you feel like you're spliting the earth open. You don't get further than the top of the steps. 

Down ahead of you, you see Phillip, he's chained to the wall at the wrists and ankles, his long brown hair falling forward to hide one eye, his body covered in bites, blood raining down his tan skin in thin crimson lines. 

Just the night before you were pressed against that body, your cock inside him, his body warm and soft under you. 

You blink away the double vision, focusing on the here and now, seeing Nikolaos in her flowing white dress. She's sprinkled with blood. 

She stares up at you, laughing, a white, blood-spattered hand against Phillip's chest, rolling a fingertip over his nipple. 

Phillip looks up at you from one brown eye, despair shining through. Your heart clenches in your chest, your stomach twists and drops out from under you. He looks at you like he knows what's going to happen, like he knows he's been brought here to die. 

That there isn't anything he can do about it. 

_ But I can do something.  _ You think back, willing your thoughts into his mind. 

Bald guy touches your shoulder and you take a reluctant step down, using your will power and the bracers to pull water to you from beneath the ground, to have it cushion your feet, ready to send you gliding across it like a bird. 

You come to a stop a few feet in front of Phillip, his eyes down cast now, unable to look at you. And you watch Nikolaos touch his naked thigh and run her fingers up it, Phillip's body tightens, his cock hardening, his hands clenching into fists, hating his body's response. 

"Oh, we have been having a fine time with your lover here," Nikolaos says, her voice was sweet as ever. The child bride incarnate.  _ Bitch _ .

"What do you want Nikolaos?" You grind out, hands clenched so tight they're as white as Nikolaos. 

She pouts her lower lip. "Not even going to deny it? That's no fun." She stalks towards you, slender hips swaying to some inner dance. She reaches for you, and you back up, bumping into Winter. "Animator, animator," she says. "When will you learn that you cannot resist me?"

You don't think she wants you to argue. She reaches for you again, with one bloody, dainty hand. "Winter can hold you, if you like."

You glare at her, getting the message,  _ stay still or we'll hold you down _ . Great choices. 

You stay still, watching those pale fingers glide towards your face. You steel your spine and stay rigid as her fingers touch your forehead and you feel th cool wetness of blood. 

_ Blood is liquid, liquid is water. Water is governed by Mother Nature, Nature is governed by hagalaz and hagalaz is governed by me.  _

You turn it into a mantra, reminding yourself you aren't as powerless as they think you are, you've just gotta wait,  _ bide my time.  _ Nikolaos trails her fingers down your temple to your cheek and traces her fingers over your lower lip. 

Your heart stops, eyes drifting up to Phillip, willing him to look at you. 

"Lick your lips," she says.

"No," You say back, heart in your throat.

"Oh, you are a stubborn one. Has Claude given you this courage?"

Your heart stops and look down at Nikolaos to see her grinning up at you. 

"I know your little secret animator."

"I don't know what you are talking about,"  _ Deny, deny, deny _ , you think to yourself. 

"If you like, we can play games for a little while longer." With a flash of white she's beside Phillip, her hands rubbing along the side of his chest, over his rib cage, her hands wiping away the blood to show skin that's smooth and untouch. 

She stands in front of him, not even coming to his collarbone, so small and doll like. Phillip has his eyes closed, and you see her head arch backwards, the glimpse of fangs, the lips drawn back in a snarl. 

"No." You step towards then but hands on your shoulder stop you, you look back, see Winter shaking his head, slow and careful. 

If you wanted you could throw him off, you could pulverize him actually, you've got that kind of power,  _ that  _ kind of strength,  _ it'd be so easy.  _ But you control yourself, he's still human, his just doing his job. 

Even if his job is to just stand there while another human being is being tortured. 

_ Fucking vampires.  _

Nikolaos sinks her fangs into Phillip's side and his whole body stiffens, his neck arching, his arms jerking in the chains. 

You can't watch that, can't see it. You turn your head to the side and beg God for forgiveness, begging him for the strength to do what needs to be done. 

But you don't move, there's something in the back of your head, telling you to wait, telling you to be patient. It kills you, but you know the voice is right. You do need to wait. 

Nikolaos lifts her face from Phillip's skin, blood trickling down her chin, she licks her lips with a tiny pink tongue. "Ironic," she says in a voice years older than the body would ever be. "I sent Phillip to seduce you. Instead, you seduced him."

"What do you want Nikolaos?" You ask again. 

She motions and Winter let's go of your shoulders. "Let us discuss your future, Anita." She begins to walk up the steps. "And your lover's future."

You hope she means Phillip and not Claude. 

The nameless man motions for you to follow her up the stairs and Valentine moves down, closer to Phillip. They would be alone together,  _ no fucking way.  _

"Nikolaos, please."

Maybe it's the Please. She turns. "Yes." 

"May I ask two things?"

She smiles at you, amused. It's an adult's amusement with a child who used a new word. You don't care what she thinks of you, you  _ are  _ a child compare to her, as long as she does what you want. 

"You may ask," she says, indulgent. 

"That when we go, all the vampires leave this room." She stares at you, smiling, so far so good. "And that I be allowed to speak with Phillip privately."

She laughs, high and wild. "You are bold, mortal. I'll give you that. I begin to see what Claude sees in you."

You let the comment go, not ready or able to open  _ that  _ can of worms. "May I have what I ask, please?"

"Call me master, and you will have it."

_ Fuck you, you fucking Lolita cunt!  _ You scream inside your head while you smile, gentile, and give her what she wants. "Please…master."

"Very good, animator, very good indeed." Without her needing to say anything, Valentine goes up the steps and out the door. 

"I will leave Burchard at the top of the steps. He has human hearing. If you whisper, he won't be able to hear you at all."

You look at the bald guy, vowing to keep calling him bald guy. To his face even. 

Winter follows Nikolaos like an obedient puppy on steroids.

And Burchard,  _ bald guy _ , takes up a post in front of the closed door, staring straight ahead. It's as much privacy as you'll get. 

You go to Phillip, who still won't look at you, his hair acting as a curtain between you. "Phillip, what happened?"

His voice is an abused whisper, screaming will do that to you. "Guilty Pleasures; they took me from there."

"Didn't Robert try to stop them?" 

"Wasn't strong enough."

"Look at me baby, show me those pretty brown eyes." You say softly, reaching up and brushing his hair out of his face, tucking a few strands behind his ear. 

Phillip closes his eyes, leaning back into the wall, head shaking, throat working hard at swallowing. There are two fresh bite marks on his neck, weeping blood, all his bite marks are still weeping.  _ He's going to bleed to death, if someone doesn't get carried away first.  _

You cup his cheek and he opens his eyes. He almost smiles, his voice breaking as he whispers, "Few months back, I'd have paid money for this."

You chuckle softly, thumb softly caressing over his lips, your heart feels heavy in your chest and your eyes sting. You lean in and brush your lips against his, resting your foreheads together. "You're going to get out of this Phillip. I promise."

Burchard says, "It is time to go."

You pull back, staring into Phillip's eyes. "I won't leave you here." You say softly.

Phillip's eyes flicker to the man on the stairs and back to you, his face young and helpless. "See you later," he says.

You smile. "You can count on it."

"It is not wise to keep her waiting," Burchard says.

You and Phillip share one more look before you turn and walk up the stairs. Bald guy holds the door open and you walk through, resisting the urge to look back at Phillip.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm editing this thing myself, so I probably missed some of the more subtle mistakes. If you see any, just point them out.


End file.
